The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1894-01-14

run her,rope. Can't git another dollar,
can she, Jeff2f
mot darned red cent. You feilers
better hustle nowi" And with this the
precious pair drove rapidly away towards
Midtown, the county seat, twelve miles
| distant.
Thereiwere quick movements about the
camp, but not of preparation for hasty
hight. Low and rapid consultations by
were held. In one group the clinking Of
gold could be softly heard. The name of
a certain Midtown lawyer was more than
once spoken under their breaths. Three
of the best horses were saddled, and
shortly three huge gipsies, Chief Stanley,
Elias Wharton, whose wife seemed 10
be earnestly urging him on, and kindly
Zeb Boswell, were upon there backs,
Swimming like swallows along the pleas
ant highway in the direction the Squire
and constable had taken. They soon
overlook the conveyance, and as they
passed it, Chief Stanley said almost apol-
ogetically to the Squire and his compan-
ion:
Illus be jess ridin' up to Midtown, for
summat as we needs afore breakin'
camp
''AH right, Gip,r returned JEFF. surily
''Mosey long. Quicker We git back an
git out the betterP' and with respect
full ''Thankse, sirs" from all, the three
AhCA onSS0 bIclT SDc6u anu ldU SOOlA pAtCGQ
! miles between themselves aud the Maple
Valley representatives of the law.
The sun had scarcely turned the shad-
ows of the great maple trees from west
to east across the perturbed camp, when
two well favored men of perhaps 30 years
Of age strolled into the little grove from
the old highway which leads from the
city of Boston to the grand New England
Mills. The face of one, who carried
portfolio, was full of eager interest as he
surveyed the picturesque scene. His
companion was a young New York au-
| thor. His writings upon the Romany
race were already making him famous.
He had brought his artist friend, Joe
Beale, from Philadelphia to this out-of-
the-way New England nook to assist him
| in securing additional Illustrations for his
| new volume, "With an Ancient Race"
| For famous and prosperous man there
was a strange sadness in his face and
| huskiness in his voice as he conversed
with his artist friend, and now and then
| peering through the naples towards the
| gray old farm house on the hill, or, closer
| still over upon the huddled graves be-
| yond the hazel copse.
They came along together, the artist
| already impatiently fumbling at his
sketch book. and the author patting this
| dog, that chauvie, or another racklie,
upon the head or nodding faniliarly to
one or another of the lads or men. until
close beside Chief Stanleys tent, when he
said pleasantly in their own language to
the group still lingering there:
rs your rom Chief about the camp?
l am known to many of your people as
the gorgiochal 1.-THE nOn-Gipsy Gipsies'
| friend). 1 have brought friend with
me, and we would like to remain here a
| little"
In the words of gypsy welcome that in
| stantly came and the scurrying of gypsy
| feet to do him honor, a sudden commo-
tion was heard within the tent. II was
Jane Tooker, who first screeched out:
Lord, know'd sunthn' ID happen! !"
"I'l be gol DANCED to all 'tarnity -
| piped Josh.
Its him Mary Its him Dick! I'd
know my boys voice in heavn" shrieked
Grandma Hull, staggering from the tent
and desperately cluDching the stranger.
Brother l-brotherlp gasped Mary
| Hull, springing after her mother into the
| arms of Richard Hull, who stood there
| deathly pale and speechless as these, to
him, apparitions from the very grave
| chung eostatically about him.
Hold the gang right therep' shouted
Joe Beale, working furiously upon bis
sketch book not eonprehending the sig
nificanee Of the scene, but filled with an
artists enthusiasm. "Just minute more
| Great Scott Dick HUH, if can catch
that grouping, it'R be worth 81 ,00Ol"
-r'4 eft IN In q Ata-A4eftsim in q fitl"
yelled zeb Boswell, wildly waving paper
above hts shaggy head, as he and his
companions dashed into camp and leaped
from their painting horses with whoops of
hilarious triumph. ERE, ERE, Grandma
I'M! .Ere's the morgige-clean o. 81
Slater as your poor oil art from mean
ness. Maple MS yourn agin, an hus
Gipsies doan't mosey-I"
The sentence was not completed, for
handsome Helen Wharton, grabbing tin
ker Zeb and her grinning husband, while
| laughing, crying and gasping out, "The
soldier that saved husi" jerked her raven
| head violently in explanation and dragged
the two men to Dick and those who
| bound him in loves embrace where the
trio beset him with incoherent thanks
and blessings; Zeb somehow getting out
side the whirlwind of emotion long enough
to hollow, "EverlasEn' hammers an
| tongs but ERE IL a Co--!''
For It's Chez Cheel' when the boobies
GOMEZ"
| whereupon the wildly jubilant camp, Civ
| ing full sway to the delirious influence of
ballad and victory, sang as mortals never
| sang before.
And when the stars shone out that
night upon Maple Valley, their gentle
rays fell upon happy farmhouse home,
happy sleeping roadside camp, and a
| peaceful village there below; for the hand
| of Hate tx-ac atfllaI