The record-union., 1894-04-07
A GYPSY PATTERAN.

Copyright, 1894, by Edgar L. Wakeman. Al
rights reserved.
The situation may always be consid
cred a serious one in any community
when q deputation of ladies feels called
upon to set forth upon the mission OF adj
justing its general grievances or righting
its individual affairs.
Curiously, too, history proves that the
intensity of purpose on the part of such
expeditions is invariably revealed by the
hour of the day chosen for its sally.
If it be late, its characer its usually one
of mild reproof; if at midday or there
about, its counsel and protest are frmel
and more rigorous, but if it happen in
the early morning, as this one did, it may
be relied upon to poss sess elements OF ac-
tive determination, precluding all gain
saying or appeal.
A dim consciousness of all this seemed
to rest upon tinker Bob's perpleXed,
kindly but still defiant face, as he stood
before his little hooded tent, the crisp
morning wind tossing his graying locks
and Tapping the unbuttoned corners o1
his shirt front across his shaggy breast.
He kicked few half-burnt embers into
the smoldering fire before him with his
bare foot, as if with desire to brighten
things up a bit as delegation OF gypsy
women advanced.
They were five in number. wives of the
most influential members of the band.
There was Mrs. Stanley, Mrs. Boswell,
Mrs. Blythe. Mrs. Reynolds and Mrs.
tall. Their toilettes lacked usual atten-
ton. but the determined looks they wore
more than counterbalanced any absence
OF scrupulousness in their attire. Mrs.
Blythe, who had evidently been selected
TO speak the sentiments OF the delegation,
held a scrap of paper in her hand. This
she handed with an official and accusa-
tive air lo Bob, when the women seated
themselves silently upon fallen log be-
side the tent and glOomily awaited the
effect of its reading upon the tinker.
Gypsy Bob Stanley was no scholar,
but he could write laboriously and could
read, without much stumbling, anything
which ran along smoothly in simple
words, and he was not long in making
out and fairly understanding these lines:
PATTERAN.
Two tiny hands that nestle within one
OF mine; two dainty, tlreleSS feet;
Two lustrous eyes; two lips which greet
NV own and cling there, never Gone
such Is my matchleSS gypsy sweet
But raised between my Gorgio blood
And her relentless mystic race,
\ wall of hate has set It's face.
Which Love, the KING, nor storm, ncr food,
Nor Time himself can e'er displace.
All day the sluggish train trails on;
All night the campfires gleam like stars,
While swarthy guards, as those in wars,
Hold Jealous watch, till pale and wan,
The Night lets down the Morning bars.
All day the sluggish train trails on;
But ever lutter by the way
An, love is faithful night and day -
Sprays of strewn grass, her pGtteTT7t,
With blue bells and anemone.
All night the campfres pale and flare;
But, true as truth, one loyal light
EAh, love is faithful day and night
Throbs back and forth our twin-heart prayer,
And, though apart, our souls unite!
O Opriceless passion flower of East!
III follow thee beneath all skies
Till heart 10 heart. through thy sweet eyes,
Though life should ebb in That mad feast,
A path shall lead 10 paradise
Hits poetry the tinker remarked
quietly, turning the scrap of paper around
and around edgewise, when he had fin
ished its reading.
Hits love poetry, Bob Stanley" re-
torted Mrs. Blythe, coming at once
closely to the object Of the delegation's
visit.
Blythe returned Bob meekly, Though
Hi isn't no ways quaP fed t. say"
''See here, Bob Stanley, no use o.
dodgin' hus. Hi aren't Z be tri1ed with,
nor deceived howsumdever."
There's none smarter than yourself
tween Kirk Yetholm, Scotland, am
Texas. in th' Blythe family" answered
Bob kindly.
'Ye old bite,," shouted Mrs. Fall say
aeely. ''give DER meddlin' VII those
Gorgio bings (nOn-gypsy Devils ~
"NIistres Blythe, Hi aren't a meddlin'
VII 'em. Pears like 'twus you."
Here the deputation broke forth into a
medley of mutual condolences, inter
mingled with shrill objurgations upon
tinker Bob, which, calm and sunny as
was his nature, seemed to nettle and
rouse him sorely. With both hands deeI
in his trousers pockets, he gave his huge
old body a sort of shuddering rub and
twist and advanced scowlingly upon the
party with:
'sSee here, ladies, Hi aren't given t
violence an contention, as ye all knows.
But wen We goes agin my own affairs an
my own blood, Hi warns ye hits time tc
stopm
The gypsy women were upon their teei
at once.
AN Hi warns ye hits gypsy blood
we're savin'," said Mrs. Boswell threat
eningly. ''Thar's Zella Smythe. she went
an married a Gorgio. Whar is she? IL
her grave. Bob Stanleyp
AN Zeb Johnson, he married Gorgic
gal" continued Mrs. Stanley. What
he now? No count; his brats are neither
Gorgio or gypsy. They're beggars all''
s'An' Ellen Wilson," spoke up Mrs
REYNOLDS hotly, while shaking her skin
other. Married strollin' fiddler. He's
hind now. She's leadin' him round like
q dog. he a fiddlin' an she beggin' fun
a liyin'. Hooi There's enough of this
mixin'. AM here, Bob Stanley, yell
give DER ger own blood, the best Ro-
many blood o. Yorkshire, T. a glib
tongued tramp as can make verses an
betray US all in th' books an papers. Hai
We cot no pride left?"
Bob Stanley looked at the woman
Glanced hastily over the pleasant camp
noticed that the chauvies were creeping
towards his tent with childish curiosity
and alarm in their sunny faces, saw thai
gypsy men were gathered in excited
groups among the wagons, tents and
tethered animals, and 1elt for the frs
time in all his gypsy life that crushing
sense of utter loneliness which comes
from ostracism and hate, however hum
ble and obscure may be their victim.
aWhar's Cetta? Bring her an hus'l
90 - he at last said sadly. "Thar's many
roads. an room enough fur all. ii
doan't want bad blood WI them that:
been my own, life long"