The news & observer., 1897-09-26

With an oath the gypsy turned to the
window.
Have no fear for them, Mrs Hearne
They shall be cared for
l saw her face twitch in the din
light
"Wil you take them this bite of bread
for their supper? They are hungry.
have been gone from the camp all the
day"
She stretched out the poor food in her
gaunt hands.
No, dye, I'll not take it, But they
shall sup well enough. Make your mind
easy. I'll see to them. Kushto ratti."
You've the poor persons blessing, my
son." she called after me, as | passed
! out through the dim, chilly corridors into
the warm summer night
| III.
| Over the hills came the moonlight fresh
with the wind that blew from the west.
under the trees shone the street lamns.
breaking the shadows with patches of
light. Up from the square into the hush
of the evening floated the faint clatter
of traffic, while carriage rolled silently
by over the smooth drive to lose itself
soon in the shade OF the great elms. Over
all the town peace, over the hills the
moonlight. in the treetops the
robins, hushing their last notes.
over the world the soft wind, the white
stars.
My football awakened the pleasant
echoes as l went on treading the uneven
bricks of the pavement, bits of song
filled the evening, stealing out from half
opened windows where the breeze gently
stirred the white curtains, or, like beni-
son, ringing richly from the church doors
as the congregation gathered for prayer
meeting.
Across the cool square into the heart
of the town. Down the main street and
over the bridge, with only pause here
and there to fill a good wicker basket
or to change a word with a friend. So
on and so over the bridge--so on to the
great elm in the lane where Mrs. Lee
and my pal Anselo had once made their
camp, so to the van and the tan of my
friend in the gloomy room with the
barred windows
. ! paused at some little distance to put
my basket down in the tall grass while
reconnoitered. For all the soft sum-
mer night and the lights of the town
Just over the water, the camp had
lonely, desolate LOCK-. as a hearth has
when the fire burns low and tired chill
dren huddle over the Goals awaiting the
return of their mother. A fire was
Esmouldering out near the tent From
the wagon came the sound of child's
voice, child singing a child to sleep.
The voice trembled. Suddenly the song
iceased the singers sharp ears
had caught the sound of my steps on
the path.
Nanny, Nanny" cried two little
voices. In the moonlight / saw three
dark little heads crowd TO the front of
the van.
| ''Is it you nanny? Neyader won't go
ito sleep. Use been singing gllie to her
But it won't shut his eyes,
/ ''Ith's not nanny" second voice lisp
Iingly whispered, ''mandy's atrash, I'm
afraid"
! Nanny tremblingly questioned the
first voice. Amt it you, mammyy
"Why don't nanny come home from
the gay, mandy's atrash," lisped the sec
ond voice.
Nanny? amt it you, nanny? dearie
nanny, amt it you?
"Sarishan,' / cried coming forward
'Rommany chel! Rommany chelv' piped
the voices. Then the three little heads
sunk into the gloom OF the wagon and
profound silence reigned.
"Sarishan," l repeated, knowing moth
ing more soothing to the ear Of a gypsy
than the old mystic greeting.
''Sar'san," piped a faint, frightened
voice from the wagon, "but you amt
nanny"
'I'ute tant tum into our TAM" lisped
the second voice, ''mandy's atrash."
"You need not be afraid, pal, for /
come from your mother. Get down from