The record-union., 1894-09-08

restless in movement, and full of that
petulant resentment TO change, so true
ana pathetic seal upon the overripe fac
ultles OF old age.
gypsy lasses, ever demure in the pres
ence OF potent act or fact in their elders,
but miracles of winsome physical and
heart free abandonment in joyous hours,
looked twice their age in their long
gowns and laces, while the gypsy dogs,
those rare. sad-visaged, voiceless cheats,
whose pretense of sOdden ignorance out
gypsy the siyest Romany themselves, sat
ranged at deterential distances from the
camphres, the embodiment of dreary
dolefulness.
But could see that tinker Zeke's fore
bodlngs were not wholly those indetina-
ble touches of melancholy which stir the
lowllest heart in the sadGening autumn
days, and emerging from our tent L
placed my hand softly on his shaggy old
head asking him sympathetically:
''Zeke, tell me truly what worries YOU
this morning."
He looked up in my face for moment
with strange gypsy look which reads
slowly but searchingly to the end. Then
he drew me down beside him and re-
turned my question with another one
earnestly:
Long Ger yer gorgio ways did ye
ne'er ha' summat as wus th' best part o.
Questions had ever been the other way
between us, but l wonderfully nodded
my head.
"An' th' more ye tried t. keep it by We
th' more it crep' away like?"
Again l nodded assent.
AN yer likin' am carin' an worritin',
'stead o. bringin' 'tother thing closer,
KEEP sorter edgin' 'tother thing fur an
furder away.
why, yes, Zeke,' 1 replied concern
edly. "Y You surely have no trouble like
that?"
AN ye just lost art" he continued
doggedly, 'an' th' skies kinder come
down low like an shet ye in a. alone by
yersel'?'
"Well, well, well!" I could only an
swer.
"Wait till ye gifts old, an w'athever ye
'as drops hout little by little!" he re-
torted grinding one huge fist into the
other open palm.
reflected that gypsy old age had few
CHEEKY tiresides at which to doze and
Groom, and | found my hand pattlng his
rough shoulders comlortingiy.
Thar wuz Ephe an Boze-they went
to Meriky anil ne'er come back. Thar
wuz Cetta an Zella. They went an got
book larnin' am married above us, am
they be good as dead. Then Betty, ol
wife, went wiz th' fever, am Hi amt been
arf man sense"
''But there's your daughter, Sophronia,
over yonder, Zeke," l suggested encour-
agingly, motioning toward that lively
young gypsy, who, after spirited race
and struggle on the moor with old Zeke's
donkey, was at that very moment vic
bringing the stubborn animal
into camp.
Hits 'er HIM losin' an she's th'
last!"
Losing Sophronia, Zekep' exclaimed
Hits Phrony, an no hotherp'
''To one of the lads in camp, Ecker"
Lord, no, no! L could put hup wi'
thatv'
l was half in love with the 1.-the and
lively gypsy lass myself. and the disclos-
ure gave me more than vagarous emo
ton OF curiosity.
Who is the lucky fellow, Zeke?' 1
inquired.
"Ee arn't no lucky fellow, w'atsum-
dever. Ee's Lunnon wagabone, an
that's wat worrits me sore"
Isn't there any way to separate them,
Zeke?"
mo way 'thout murderin' one o. 'eml',
well, well, that's badi Do you mind
my speaking to Phrony about it?''
'Taikin' won't mend 'er. But ye can
do as ye loikes."
1 think the wild thing knew we were
talking about her, for she observed US
keenly, from time to time, while busted
in feeding and harnessing the donkey,
and obeying my gesture she was beside
us with a bound, looking sharply from
one to the other.
l led her into the tent and bade old
Zeke follow, which he did hulkinglv and
with a glowering face.
"Phrony," l began, not knowing Just
which tack to follow, "Fve known you
and Zeke q long, long time"
so you 'as, sir"
'Since you were a tiny little chauvie.
Down at 'op pickin' in Kent" she
added quietly.
Your mother was alive then. Phro-
ny?"
''Ay, ay, so she wus, sure"
You must miss her dreadfully at
times? She was strong, brave woman,
''Oh, ay. Hits fayther as takes on
most!"
The soddenness of the little heather
piqued me. Tinker Zeke felt it, too, for
he groaned and shook his head.
. our father is getting old, Phrony?n
'Ay, too old fur th' drom troad)."
And you'll want a husband of your
Own-tour or live years from now, Phro-
ny?"
She gave us both a startled look and at
tempted TO leave the tent. / held her
back gently and came straight to the un-
pleasant subject.
Wont you walt until you get a fine.
brave Romany lad, Phrony-one that'li
treat you as you deserve and be some
comfort to poor old Zeke?'
HIS tired o. dickerin' and dukkerin'
on th road"
She said this sullenly, and the old
gypsy groaned again.
You wouldn't be happy in London.
Wouldn't Hi, thoughlr
Here her eyes dashed at the bright
pictures her strange fancy painted OF life
n great city,"
!" our heart would pine tor the free
1om OF the tent and road.''
Hits pinin' Z git free o. it now; that's
W at II Isv' said the obdurate little heath
en with a toss OF her pretty head.
But what will Zeke do alone without |
laughter or wife TO fettle him up?'' per-
sisted, attempting TO reach some chord |
of fllial feeling and compassion.
HIS told 'ln many a time an off,
she replied stoutly.
shed ave ME arm wat Hi call a reo,- |
ar ard penny, smotherin' in Lunnon |
,treets. interrupted Zeke vehementIv. i
'HTd starve an choke at hitr' he added /
with shuddering shrug of his huge I
rame.
"Higgletypiggletyp she snorted in dis
lain. Wat ha' ye gotten fur a. yer
years on th' drom? TR moke donkey |