CHAPTER VII

THE GIPSY CAMP

"AND now where can we buy the donkey?" We were all lying out on the lawn under the trees. Puff was the only one who couldn't keep still. Every now and then he would dart out into the sun, chasing a butterfly or pursuing a bee. It was a very hot afternoon.

"You generally see donkeys grazing somewhere," said Aylwin, leaning over towards Lynette and tickling her ear with a bit of grass, "but I haven't set eyes on a donkey since we've come here."

"Let's go and tell Mrs. Ribbon we want one," I said, and then I chanted:

"If once you come, you come again, You never come to us in vain."

"She'll produce it from the back-yard," said Denys, "and it will be a mangy one, I can tell you. No, the only people who have real good donkeys are gipsies, and we shall have to find them first of all."

"Hurrah! We'll all go and visit a gipsy camp," shouted Aylwin.

"Mrs. Ribbon will tell us where to find one," said Lynette.

"Wait a bit," said Denys. "We'll put up a notice in the village like they do in the police stations. I'll make it out."

"Oh, but we may as well try Mrs. Ribbon first," I urged. "I should love to hear her say, 'I'm afraid I can't do it for you.'"

So we all started to our feet and swooped over to the village shop. There were two women gossiping over the counter, but when they saw us, they went off, and we quite filled the shop. Of course Puff insisted on coming too. Oh, how hot it was! The flies were swarming over everything. Mrs. Ribbon's face looked as if she had put some sticky syrup over it to attract the flies—they were dotted about her like currants in a cake. She kept flicking them off with her handkerchief, but she smiled upon us as she always does. She never does anything but smile at everybody.

"If you please, we want a gipsy camp," said Denys, in a business-like tone.

She looked at him with a twinkle in her eyes. Mrs. Ribbon loves a joke—that's why we like her so.

"How much have you got to pay for it?" she asked. "They be expensive, Master Denys."

"Oh, if you find us one, we'll pay afterwards," said Denys.

"A gipsy camp be a big order," said Mrs. Ribbon thoughtfully. "You must give me more particulars. How many gipsies do you want, or is it only their camp?"

We saw she was laughing at us, so Aylwin pointed to the motto outside.

"The first time we come here in vain, Mrs. Ribbon, we'll take that notice down. We want a regular gipsy camp—with live gipsies in it."

"But bless your heart, I only sells things for folks to buy. Live gipsies aren't to be bought and sold in this here Christian country."

We began to feel rather small. Mrs. Ribbon is too clever for us.

"We'll put up a notice," said Denys; "I told you we should have to do it. It's the 'information' about a gipsy camp we want to buy, Mrs. Ribbon, but we won't trouble you any further."

We all marched out of the shop with our heads very high in the air.

"She'll be sorry she didn't help us now," said Denys.

And then we came home, and he wrote out on a big sheet of father's sermon paper, in his best handwriting:

"Wanted immediately. Information of the nearest gipsy camp. To be brought to the Rectory within a week.—DENYS MARJORIBANKS."

Then the question was where to put this, and we determined we wouldn't let Mrs. Ribbon have the pleasure of putting it in her shop window. Denys thought of a beautiful place. At the cross-roads, just at the beginning of our village, there is a big-signpost. We got some paste and went off there at once. On the way, I said:

"You'll have to offer a reward, Denys."

He hadn't thought of that, but he quickly added it on the paper—"The informer will be suitably rewarded."

We pasted it high up, so that everybody should see it, and then we came home. After tea Denys went off on two visits to it, to see if it was sticking properly. The last time he went, he said there were two men and a boy reading it.

"I didn't let them see me," he said—"I hid behind the hedge, but they seemed very much interested."

"I think it would have been better to ask for information about a donkey," I said.

But the boys both exclaimed at this.

"The gipsy camp is half the fun," Denys said.

"Perhaps they don't have camps in Lincolnshire," said Lynette.

This hadn't struck us. We began to be very interested in gipsies and their ways now. We asked father a lot about them, and he told us that once he had often visited a gipsy camp, as there was a man ill there; we didn't tell him why we asked, but Puff was anxious to know whether they stole boys and girls. The very next day a boy came to the back-door and asked to see Denys. It was very fortunate he was home, for we were going to begin lessons the day after.

Denys came in after a few minutes, very excited.

"I've got the information," he said. "Farmer Brown, up on the high road to Lemworth, always lets tramps and gipsies camp out on a waste bit of ground of his; and this is the month they generally come, because they always attend Lemworth Fair, and that's in about a week from to-day."

"We're in luck!" said Aylwin. "How much did you give him?"

"Sixpence. He was quite satisfied. I shall take it out of the money-box, of course."

"I should like to get the donkey to-morrow," I said; "it seems so stupid to wait so long."

But the boys said it was well worth waiting a week to choose a real donkey out of a real gipsy camp. And then lessons began. The boys were away all day. Lynette and I did lessons all the morning with Aunt Caroline, and Puff pretended to do some too. The afternoons we had to ourselves, but there was always something to take to a sick villager, or a message to some one.

One day father heard me grumbling, for I wanted to read a new story-book that had been got for the school library, and I had been out once for Aunt Caroline, and now she wanted me to go again.

He shook his head at me.

"'Semper paratus,'" he murmured. "You're not making a good servant, Grisel."

"But I'm not Aunt Caroline's servant," I said rather quickly.

"I thought you were one of Christ's servants," he said gravely. "Your little daily duties are the duties He gives you. You can't separate His service from your service at home; they're one and the same thing. Do you ever think of His commands day by day, child?"

"I forget so," I murmured.

"An unfaithful servant is such a disappointment," father said, in his soft low voice.

Then I began to cry. I couldn't help it.

"I don't believe I shall ever be a faithful, ready servant, father."

"Why not? This errand of your aunt's was one of the 'go's,' was it not?"

"I suppose it was," I murmured.

"Do you consider yourself in the service of Christ?" he asked me.

"I hoped I was, father. I want to serve Him, because He has died for me, and I do love Him for it—a little, not as much as I ought to. I think the 'come' you told us about is easier than the 'go.' And as for the 'do,' I haven't thought about it at all. And, father, I'm dreadfully sorry I didn't take the Sunday school class; Denys was too quick for me."

"I wonder if you have taken in, Grisel, that you must 'come,' every day, as well as 'go.' A servant comes to his master for orders the first thing in the morning, every day. Did you go to your Master this morning for His orders?"

"No, father," I said, "I rather hurried my prayers this morning—I got up late."

"Ah, that is the cause of unfaithfulness, Grisel. I have been in my Master's service many more years than you have. If I try to carry out His orders without going to Him continually, I get into trouble at once. It is 'come' and 'go' all day long, Grisel."

"But," I said perplexedly, "I can't keep going upstairs and saying my prayers, father. I shouldn't have time."

He looked at me meditatively.

"'Blessed is the man that heareth me, watching daily at my gates, waiting at the posts of my doors.'"

Father has a way of quoting texts to himself which makes one think. Then he added:

"We must live close to the Master, child, to get the listening attitude. It doesn't come quickly. You may take years to learn it, but remember it was a child who said, 'Speak, Lord, for Thy servant heareth.'"

"That was Samuel," I said. "Father, are you angry with me that I didn't take that class? Because I'll take it now, whenever Denys wants to give it up."

"Oh, Grisel," said father, as he turned to leave the room, "when will you learn to put your Lord and Master before me?"

I got into a long fit of thinking then. Of course it was Jesus Christ who ought to be angry with me, not father, so I went upstairs and asked to be forgiven, and I made a promise in my heart that I would try to be a ready servant, and not grumble if I were sent a hundred errands in the day. I think, if it isn't wicked to say so, grown-ups never mind interrupting children. They often say to us, "Don't interrupt me now; I'm reading, or writing," but when we're reading or writing or painting we can never say that to them, and we are always being interrupted.

We heard a good deal about the fair that was coming off at Lemworth, and we asked father if we could go to it, but he said No. And then the boys asked him if we could all go out for the day on Saturday, which was a holiday, and take our lunch with us.

"We want to go a long walk," Denys said, "just to see if some gipsies have got a donkey that would do for us."

And father said we might, and told us that we could make inquiries, but must not buy—we must leave that to him. We thought Saturday would never come. But it came at last, and we started off directly after breakfast. Puff roared and cried because he couldn't come with us, and Aunt Caroline began to promise him all kinds of treats to quiet him.

We started, and went about two miles along the hot, dusty high road, then we climbed over a fence and kept along in the fields. And we talked hard the whole time; the boys were telling us about the other boys at their school. I'm going to call it a school, though it isn't a proper one. There's one boy there that Denys says he knows he shall fight before long. He comes from London, and talks as if his father is a duke, and he has a scorn for "parsons' sons," as he calls them.

"I don't think it's 'good form' for gentlemen's sons to fight," I said.

I always like to use Denys's words against him.

"He'd go down like a sausage!" said Denys. "I'd love to get my knuckles into him. But I'll leave him alone unless he runs down parsons, and then I'll give him a licking!"

"Do you think we're sure to find the gipsies at home?" asked Lynette presently. "Don't you think they'll be at the fair?"

This had not suggested itself to us. We stopped to consider it, and then we began to feel hungry, and so we sat down on the grass and ate our lunch.

"All the donkeys can't be at the fair," said I.

"Do gipsies always have donkeys?" asked Lynette. "Do they ride them?"

"Oh, shut up, and don't ask so many beastly questions," said Denys a little crossly.

It seemed a long way to Farmer Brown's waste bit of ground, but we came to it at last, and there to our delight was a caravan, a dirty-looking tent, and a lot of grimy children playing about. One swarthy woman was washing some clothes in a big saucepan.

But there were no donkeys to be seen, only one old white horse grazing close by.

"I'm afraid they're at the fair," whispered Aylwin. "Go ahead, Denys, and do the polite."

Denys can always do that. The village people love him because he takes off his cap to them. He walked straight up to the woman and raised his straw hat.

"Good-morning, ma'am; may we have the pleasure of speaking to you for a minute or two?"

She took her hands out of the saucepan and stared at us as if we were wild animals.

"We have been waiting for you to arrive for a long time. I don't know who is the—the boss of your camp, but I should like to see him on business."

"Are ye sarcing?" she asked a little roughly.

"We're all in serious earnest," said Denys. "We want—if you would like to know—to buy a donkey, and we conclude you have one to sell!"

The woman laughed, then she called out:

"Jim! Come and tell the young gent that 'e's come to the wrong quarters for donkeys!"

A man lounged round the corner. He was a real gipsy. I am sure he was, because he had a lot of buttons all over him, and a red and yellow handkerchief round his neck, and a big ring on one of his fingers.

"Us don't deal in no donkeys!" he said, sticking a pipe in his mouth, and looking at us out of the corners of his eyes. "How much be 'ee goin' to give for un?"

"Father will settle that," said Denys grandly. "We want a ripping good donkey, one that will go like the wind, and we want him sent to Warlington Rectory for us to see one evening, after six o'clock, without fail."

Denys is always awfully business-like, just like a grown-up man. But we all felt dreadfully disappointed not to see any donkeys.

Lynette stole away to the caravan and peeped in, then she came back to the woman.

"Do show me the inside of your little house," she said in her coaxing way. "I should love to live in a caravan."

The woman good-naturedly led the way, and Aylwin and I followed, while Denys talked to the man. It was quite lovely inside. There were little pictures, and muslin curtains, and brass pans hung on the walls, but it didn't smell very nice—stuffy and oniony, I thought. Lynette was delighted. Then she said:

"Do tell me—we won't tell anybody—but do you ever steal children now, or is it only in books you do? Are any of those children out there stained with walnut-juice?"

The woman laughed out loud.

"Would 'ee like to come 'long wi' us, missy?"

"Oh, awfully!" exclaimed Lynette. "Just for a few weeks, you know, in the holidays. I should think it would be lovely to be stolen."

The woman shook her head.

"Children be more bother than they're worth," she said; "us bain't likely to want more 'n we have, as 'tis!"

Lynette was quite disappointed. Then Aylwin asked her if she could tell fortunes, and she shook her head. So we told her we were afraid she wasn't a proper gipsy at all, and then she said if we wanted our fortunes told, we must go to the fair.

So then we found out the proper fortuneteller was there. Then we asked her if they all sat round the fire in the evening, and ate stews of chicken and rabbit, and Aylwin said we should love to be invited to supper one night, and she laughed till she shook herself all over. Then Denys called us.

"It's all right," he said; "we're going to have some donkeys sent to choose from, the day after to-morrow. We'll have to wait till then."

Then Aylwin asked him to ask the man to invite us to a proper gipsy supper one evening. And Denys asked, and said we could pay fourpence a head. And the man grinned, and told us to come on Tuesday night at nine o'clock. So then we wished them good-bye and came away.

I don't know how it is, but we're always getting disappointments. We expected to see a beautiful donkey and come home with everything settled, and we thought we should see a crowded gipsy camp, with an old kind of witch that told fortunes, and men with earrings in their ears, and dancing and feasting going on, and perhaps a stolen child crying behind a tree. At least, that is what Lynette and I expected, and it all seemed so tame.

But Denys said that the man knew some one who kept a lot of donkeys to sell, and he was at the fair. And he said he would tell him we wanted one, and he'd bring them along.

"I've given him till Monday evening," said Denys grandly; "and I've thought of a ripping plan. We'll put up another notice at the cross-roads, and tell people to bring their donkeys for us to choose from, the same evening."

"It'll be a kind of donkey-show," said Aylwin, capering in the road. "We'll have hordes of them driven in!"

So we cheered up, and looked forward to Monday. We always like something to look forward to. That's the best of making plans, and that's why we're never dull. Beatrice and Clarice say they are very often, but I told them they should make up plans as we do. We walked home quite contentedly, but when we began to talk about the gipsies' supper-party, I felt rather uncomfortable, for I didn't believe father would like Lynette and me to go to it. I told Denys so.

"Oh, well," he said, "you had better not go. Aylwin and I will, because father used to go into a gipsy camp; he told us so, and he had supper with them once. He said some of them are the most sober, respectable people there are."

"But we should love to come," I said a little discontentedly. "I do wish all the delicious things weren't wrong!"

"Don't be a prig!" said Aylwin.

And Lynette said excitedly:

"I mean to go—I don't care what old Gristle does; I shall be there if I'm punished ever so much afterwards!"

I didn't say any more, but I felt rather sober all the way home after that.