  Before day break, Gypsy Nan awakened the goblin-like boy. Rolled in blankets they had slept in the shelter of the live oak trees and close to the warm coals of the camp fire. “Come Tirol,” she whispered, glancing at the wagons, to see if anyone was astir, “we must go now, for Nan isn’t going to dance at the inn for the gorigo. And you must come, too, else that wicked Anselo Spico will make you stand on a corner and beg, making money out of your poor little bent body that’s always a-hurting you.” With many backward glances the two children stole away to where the mules and ponies were corralled. After carefully lifting the frail boy to the back of the mottled horse, Binnie, Nan mounted, and together they galloped down the coast highway. The last star had faded, the grey in the East was brightening, and then suddenly the sun, in a burst of glory appeared and the sky and sea flamed rose and amethyst. The dark eyes of the girl glowed with appreciation and joy, and she started singing a wild, glad song to a melody of her own creating. They had gone perhaps a mile from camp and away from the town when Nan suddenly drew rein and listened. She heard the beating of hoofs behind them, but the riders were hidden by the curve in the road. Whirling her pony’s head she turned down into a canyon that led to the shore. There she concealed her horse and with Tirol she lay close to the sand. Two horsemen passed on the highway, and, as she had surmised, one was Anselo Spico. She thought they were hunting for her but she was mistaken. In the village the Romany rye had heard of a rich gorigo whose horses were of the finest breed and whose stables were but slightly guarded, and it was to inspect this place that they were going. True, Mizella’s son had noticed Nan’s absence that morning but he knew that she would return and he was planning a cruel punishment which he would administer for her defiance and disobedience. Nan remained in hiding until she could no longer hear the beating of the hoofs, then she said gaily—“Look Tirol, the sand is hard on the beach. I’ll lift you up again, dearie, and we’ll ride along by the sea.” The boy laughed happily as they rode, so close to the waves that now and then one broke about the pony’s feet, and the girl laughed, too, for it is easy to forget troubles when one is young. They soon came to a beautiful estate where the park-like grounds reached the edge of the gleaming white sand, but it was surrounded by a hedge so high that even on the small horse’s back the children could not see over it. “Tirol,” Nan exclaimed, “no one could find us here, and so close up to this high hedge, we’ll have our breakfast.” Leaping from the pony the girl, with tender compassion, carefully lifted down the mis-shapen boy, then opening a bundle tied in a red handkerchief, she gave him a thick slice of brown bread and a piece of roasted pig, which she had stored away the evening before. “Look! Look!” cried the boy, clapping his claw-like hands. “The birds are begging, Nanny, let Tirol feed them.” Like a white cloud shining in the sun the sea gulls winged down from the sky. Gypsy Nan leaped to her feet and ran with outstretched arms to greet them, and the white birds fearlessly circled about her as she tossed crumbs into the air, and one, braver than the others lighted on Tirol’s outstretched hand and pecked at his breakfast. When at last this merry feast was over, the sea gulls flew away, and Nan called merrily, “Tirol, maybe there’s something beautiful behind the hedge that’s so high. Let’s go through it, shall we?” The deformed boy nodded. Many an exciting adventure he and Nan had when they ran away. But the gypsy children found that the hedge was as dense as it was high, and though it was glowing with small crimson flowers, it was also bristling with thorns and nowhere was there space enough for them to break through. Suddenly Nan, who had danced ahead, gave a little cry of delight. “Here’s the gate, Tirol!” she called. “It opens on the beach.” Eagerly the girl lifted the latch and to her joy the gate swung open. She leaped within and the boy followed her. Then for one breathless moment Gypsy Nan stood with clasped hands and eyes aglow, as she gazed about her. Never before had she seen so wonderful a garden. There were masses of crysanthemums, golden in the sunlight, and, too, there were banks of flaming scarlet. In the midst of it all, glistening white in the sunshine, was a group of marble nymphs, evidently having a joyous time sporting in the fern-encircled pool, while a flashing of rainbow colors showered about them from the fountain. A mockingbird sang in the pepper tree near the house but there was no other sound. “Let’s find the gorigo lady that lives here,” Nan whispered. “Maybe she’d let me tell her fortune. Anselo Spico won’t be so angry if we take back a silver dollar.” Up the flowered path, the gypsy children went, but, though Nan fearlessly lifted the heavy wrought iron knocker on the door nearest the garden and on the one at the side, there was no response. Returning to the garden, the girl stooped and passionately kissed a glowing yellow crysanthemum. “Nan loves you! Nan loves you bright, beautiful flower!” she said in a low tense voice, “Nan would like to keep you.” “If you’re wantin’ it, why don’t you take it?” t Tirol asked. “Spico an’ the rest, they always take what they want when they can get it easy.” The girl turned upon the small boy as she said almost fiercely. “Haven’t I told you time and again that ’tisn’t honest to steal? Don’t matter who does it, ’tisn’t right, Tirol. Manna Lou said my mother wouldn’t love me if I stole or lied. An’ I won’t steal! I won’t lie! I won’t.” Many a time Nan had been well beaten because she would not do these things which so often Anselo Spico had commanded. Then, noting how the small boy shrank away as if frightened, the girl knelt and held him close in a passionate embrace. “Tirol!” she implored, “Little Tirol, don’t be scared of Nan. ’Twasn’t you she was fierce at. ’Twas him as makes every-body and all the little ones lie and steal. All the little ones that don’t dare not because he would beat them.” The girl felt Tirol’s frail body trembling in her clasp. “There, there, dearie. You needn’t be afraid. Anselo Spico don’t dare to beat you. He knows if he did, I’d kill him.” Then there was one of the changes of mood that were so frequently with Nan. Kissing Tirol, she danced away, flinging her body in wild graceful movements. Up one path she went, and down another. Catching up the tambourine which always hung at her belt, she shook it, singing snatches of song until she was quite tired out. Then, sinking down on a marble bench, she held Tirol close and gazed up at the windows of the house. One after another she scanned but no face appeared. Had the proud, haughty owner of that house been at home, she would have felt that her grounds were being polluted by the presence of a gypsy. Suddenly Nan sprang up and held out her hand for the frail claw-like one of the mis-shapen boy. “No need to wait any longer. There’s no lady here to get a dollar from for telling her fortune,—an’ I’m glad, glad! Fortunes are just lies! I hate telling fortunes!” Down the path they went toward the little gate in the high hedge which opened out upon the beach. Turning, before she closed it, the girl waved her free hand and called joyfully. “Good-bye flowers of gold, Nan’s coming back some day.” |
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