The Corner House Girls Among the Gypsies

“Where can we find the two ladies that – that sold us the basket?” asked Tess politely, of Big Jim.

“You look around, leetle ladies. You find,” he assured them.

There were four or five motor vans of good size in which the Gypsies evidently lived while they were traveling. But there were several tents set up as well. It was a big camp.

Timidly at first the two sisters, hand in hand, the silver bracelet firmly clutched inside Tess’s dress against her side, began walking about. They tried to ask questions about the women they sought; but nobody seemed to understand. They all smiled and shook their heads.

“Dear me! it must be dreadful to be born a foreigner,” Dot finally said. “How can they make themselves understood at all?”

“But they seem to be very pleasant persons,” Tess rejoined decidedly.

The children ran away from them. Perhaps they had been ordered to by the older Gypsies. By and by Tess, at least, grew somewhat worried when they did not find either of the women who had sold them the yellow and green basket. Dot, secretly, hoped the two in question had gone away.

Suddenly, however, the two Kenway girls came face to face with somebody they did know. But so astonished were they by this discovery that for a long minute neither could believe her eyes!

“Sammy Pinkney!” gasped Tess at last.

“It – ain’t —never!” murmured the smaller girl.

The figure which had tried to dodge around the end of a motor van to escape observation looked nothing at all like the Sammy Pinkney the Kenway girls had formerly known. Never in their experience of Sammy – not even when he had slipped down the chimney at the old Corner House and landed on the hearth, a very sooty Santa Claus – had the boy looked so disgracefully ragged and dirty.

“Well, what’s the matter with me?” he demanded defiantly.

“Why – why there looks to be most everything the matter with you, Sammy Pinkney,” declared Tess, with disgust. “What do you s’pose your mother would say to you?”

“I ain’t going home to find out,” said Sammy.

“And – and your pants are all tored,” gasped Dot.

“Oh, that happened long ago,” said Sammy, quite as airy as the trousers. “And I’m having the time of my life here. Nobody sends me errands, or makes me – er – weed beet beds! So there! I can do just as I please.”

“You look as though you had, Sammy,” was Tess’s critical speech. “I guess your mother wouldn’t want you home looking the way you do.”

“I look well enough,” he declared defiantly. “And don’t you tell where I am. Will you?”

“But, Sammy!” exclaimed Dot, “you ran away to be a pirate.”

“What if I did?”

“But you can’t be a pirate here.”

“I can be a Gypsy. And that’s lots more fun. If I joined a pirate crew I couldn’t get to be captain right away of course, so I would have to mind somebody. Here I don’t have to mind anybody at all.”

“Well, I never!” ejaculated Tess Kenway.

“Well, I never!” repeated Dot, with similar emphasis.

“Say, what are you kids here for?” demanded Sammy, with an attempt to turn the conversation from his own evident failings.

“Oh, we were brought here on a visit,” Tess returned rather haughtily.

“Huh! You was? Who you visiting? Is Aggie with you? Or Neale?” and he looked around suddenly as though choosing a way of escape.

“We are here all alone,” said Dot reassuringly. “You needn’t be afraid, Sammy.”

“Who’s afraid?” he said gruffly.

“You would be if Neale was with us, for Neale would make you go home,” said the smallest Kenway girl.

“But who brought you? What you here for? Oh! That old bracelet I bet!”

“Yes,” sighed Dot. “They want it back.”

“Who want it back?”

“Those two ladies that sold us the basket,” explained Tess.

“Are they with this bunch of Gypsies?” asked Sammy in surprise. “I haven’t seen them. And I’ve been here two whole days.”

“How did you come to be a Gypsy, Sammy?” asked Dot with much curiosity.

“Why, I – er – Well, I lost my clothes and my money and didn’t have much to eat and that big Gypsy saw me on the road and asked me if I wanted to ride. So I came here with him and he let me stay. And nobody does a thing to me. I licked one boy,” added Sammy with satisfaction, “so the others let me alone.”

“But haven’t you seen either of those two ladies that sold us the basket?” demanded Tess, beginning to be worried a little.

“Nope. I don’t believe they are here.”

“But that man says they are here,” cried Tess.

“Let’s go ask him. I – I won’t give that bracelet to anybody else but one of those ladies.”

“Crickey!” exclaimed Sammy. “Don’t feel so bad about it. Course there is a mistake somehow. These folks are real nice folks. They wouldn’t fool you.”

The three, Sammy looking very important, went to find Big Jim. He was just as smiling as ever.

“Oh, yes! The little ladies are not to be worried. The women they want will soon come.”

“You see?” said Sammy, boldly. “It will be all right. Why, these people treat you right. I tell you! You can do just as you please in a Gypsy camp and nobody says anything to you.”

“See!” exclaimed Tess suddenly. “Are they packing up to leave? Or do they stay here all the time?”

It was now late afternoon. Instead of the supper fires being revived, they were smothered. Men and women had begun loading the heavier vans. The tents were coming down. Clotheslines stretched between the trees were now being coiled by the children. All manner of rubbish was being thrown into the bushes.

“I don’t know if they are moving. I’ll ask,” said Sammy, somewhat in doubt.

He went to a boy bigger than himself, but who seemed to be friendly. The little girls waited, staring all about for the two women with whom they had business.

“I don’t care,” whispered Dot. “If they don’t come pretty soon, and these Gypsies are going away from here, we’ll just go back home, Tess. We can’t give them the bracelet if we don’t see them.”

“But we do not want to walk home,” her sister said slowly in return. “And we ought to make Sammy go with us.”

“You try to make Sammy do anything!” exclaimed Dot, with scorn.

Their boy friend returned, swaggering as usual. “Well, they are going to move,” he said. “But I’m going with them. That boy – he was the one I licked, but he’s a good kid – says they are going to a pond where the fishing is great. Wish I had my fishpole.”

“But you must come back home with us, Sammy,” began Tess gravely.

“Not much I won’t! Don’t you think it,” cried Sammy. “But you might get my fishing tackle and jointed pole and sneak ’em out to me. There’s good kids!”

“We will do nothing sneaky for you at all, Sammy Pinkney!” exclaimed Tess indignantly.

“Aw, go on! You can just as easy.”

“We can, but we won’t. So there! And if you don’t go home with us when the man takes us back in his car we certainly will tell where you are.”

“Be a telltale. I don’t care,” cried Sammy, roughly. “And I won’t say just where we are going from here, so you needn’t think my folks will find me.”

One of the closed vans – something like a moving van only with windows in the sides, a stove-pipe sticking out of the roof, and a door at the rear, with steps – seemed now to be ready to start. A man climbed into the front seat to drive it. Several women and smaller children got in at the rear after the various bales and packages that had been tossed in. The big man suddenly shouted and beckoned to Tess and Dot.

“Here, little ladies,” he said, still smiling his wide smile. “You come go wit’ my mudder, eh? Take you to find the Gypsy women you want to see.”

“But – er – Mr. Gypsy,” said Tess, somewhat disturbed now, “we must go back home.”

“Sure. Tak’ you home soon as you see those women and give them what you got for them.”

He strode across the camp to them. His smile was quite as wide, but did not seem to forecast as much good-nature as at first.

“Come now! Get in!” he commanded.

“Hey!” cried Sammy. “What you doing? Those little girls are friends of mine. You want to let them ride in that open car – not in that box. What d’you think we are?”

“Get out the way, boy!” commanded Big Jim.

He seized Tess suddenly by the shoulders, swung her up bodily despite her screams and tossed her through the rear door of the Gypsy van. Dot followed so quickly that she could scarcely utter a frightened gasp.

“Hey! Stop that! Those are the Kenway girls. Why! Mr. Howbridge will come after them and he’ll – he’ll – ”

Sammy’s excited threat was stopped in his throat. Big Jim’s huge hand caught the boy a heavy blow upon the side of his head. The next moment he was shot into the motor-van too and the door was shut.

He heard Tess and Dot sobbing somewhere among the women and children already crowded into the van. It was a stuffy place, for none of the windows were open. Although this nomadic people lived mostly out of doors, and never under a real roof if they could help it, they did not seem to mind the smothering atmosphere of the van which now, with a sudden lurch, started out of the place of encampment.

“Never you mind, Tess and Dot, they won’t dare carry you far. Maybe they are taking you home anyway,” said Sammy in a low voice. “The first time they stop and let us out we’ll run away. I will get you home all right.”

“You – you can’t get yourself home, Sammy,” sobbed Dot.

“Maybe you like it being a Gypsy, but we don’t,” added Tess.

“I’ll fix it for you all right – ”

One of the old crones reached out in the semi-darkness and slapped Sammy across the mouth.

“Shut up!” she commanded harshly. But when she tried to slap the boy again she screamed. It must be confessed that Sammy bit her!

“You lemme alone,” snarled the boy captive. “And don’t you hit those girls. If you do I – I’ll bite the whole lot of you!”

The women jabbered a good deal together in their own tongue; but nobody tried to interfere with Sammy thereafter. He shoved his way into the van until he stood beside Tess and Dot.

“Let’s not cry about it,” he whispered. “That won’t get us anywhere, that is sure. But the very first chance we get – ”

No chance for escape however was likely to arise while the Gypsy troop were en route. The children could hear the rumble of the vans behind. Soon Big Jim in his touring car passed this first van and shouted to the driver. Then the procession settled into a steady rate of speed and the three little captives had not the least idea in which direction they were headed nor where they were bound.

Back at the old Corner House affairs were in a terrible state of confusion. Linda had returned from her voyage among the neighbors with absolutely no news of the smaller girls. And Agnes had discovered that the silver bracelet was missing.

“It was Tess’s day for wearing it, but she did not have it on when she went out to play,” the older sister explained. “Do you suppose the house has been robbed, Neale O’Neil?”

Neale had been examining closely the piece of paper that Agnes had found stuck to the plate on which she had fed the beggar girl the day before and also the note Mrs. McCall had received purporting to come from Mr. Howbridge’s butler. Both were written in blue pencil, and by the same hand without any doubt.

“It’s a plot clear enough. And naturally we may believe that it was not hatched by that Miguel Costello, the junkman. It looks as though it was done by Big Jim’s crowd.”

“But what have they done with the bairns?” demanded the housekeeper, in horror.

“Oh, Neale! have they stolen Tess and Dot, as well as the silver bracelet?” was Agnes’ bitter cry.

“Got me. Don’t know,” muttered the boy. “And what would they want the children for, anyway?”

“Let us find out if any Gypsies have been seen about the house this afternoon,” Agnes proposed. “You see, Neale. Don’t send Linda.”

Linda, indeed, was in a hopeless state. She didn’t know, declared Mrs. McCall, whether she was on her head or her heels!

Neale ran out and searched the neighborhood over. When he came back he had found nobody who had set eyes on any Gypsies; but he had heard from Mrs. Pease that Gypsies were camped out of town. The store man had told her so.

“Oh!” gasped Agnes, suddenly remembering. “I heard about that. Mrs. Pinkney told me. They are on the Buckshot Road, out beyond where Carrie Poole lives. You know, Neale.”

“Sure I know where the Poole place is,” admitted Neale. “We have all been there often enough. And I can get the car – ”

“Do! Do!” begged Mrs. McCall. “You cannot go too quickly, Neale O’Neil. And take the police wi’ ye, laddie!”

“Take me with you, Neale!” commanded Agnes. “We can find a constable out that way if we need one. I know Mr. Ben Stryker who lives just beyond the Pooles. And he is a constable, for he stopped the car once when I was driving and said he would have to arrest me if I did not drive slower.”

“Sure!” said Neale. “Agnes knows all the traffic cops on the route, I bet. But we don’t know that the children have gone with the Gypsies.”

“And we never will know if you stand here and argue. Anyway, it looks as though the silver bracelet has been stolen by them.”

“Or by somebody,” granted the boy.

“Ne’er mind the bit bracelet,” commanded the housekeeper. “Find Tess and Dot. I am going to put on my bonnet and shawl and go to the police station mysel’. Do you children hurry away in the car as you promised.”

It was already supper time, but nobody thought of that meal, unless it was Aunt Sarah. When she came down to see what the matter was – why the evening meal was so delayed – she found Linda sobbing with her apron over her head in the kitchen and the tea kettle boiled completely dry.

That was nothing, however, to the condition of affairs at one o’clock that night when Ruth, with Luke and Cecile Shepard, arrived at the old Corner House. They had been delayed at the station half an hour while Ruth telephoned for and obtained a comfortable touring car for her visitors and herself. Agnes did not have to beg her older sister to put in a telephone. After this experience Ruth was determined to do just that.

The party arrived home to find the Corner House lit up as though for a reception. But it was not in honor of their arrival. The telegram announcing Ruth’s coming had scarcely been noticed by Mrs. McCall.

Mrs. McCall had recovered a measure of her composure and good sense; but she could scarcely welcome the guests properly. Aunt Sarah Maltby had gone to bed, announcing that she was utterly prostrated and should never get up again unless Tess and Dot were found. Linda and Uncle Rufus were equally distracted.

“But where are Agnes and Neale?” Ruth demanded, very white and determined. “What are they doing?”

“They started out in the machine around eight o’clock,” explained Mrs. McCall. “They are searching high and low for the puir bairns.”

“All alone?” gasped Ruth.

“Mr. Pinkney has gone with them. And I believe they were to pick up a constable. That Neale O’Neil declares he will raid every Gypsy camp and tramp’s roost in the county. And Sammy’s father took a pistol with him.”

“And you let Agnes go with them!” murmured Ruth. “Suppose she gets shot?”

“My maircy!” cried the housekeeper, clasping her hands. “I never thought about that pistol being dangerous, any more than Uncle Rufus’s gun with the broken hammer.”

CHAPTER XXIV – THE CAPTIVES

That ride, shut in the Gypsy van, was one that neither Tess nor Dot nor Sammy Pinkney were likely soon to forget. The car plunged along the country road, and the distance the party traveled was considerable, although the direction was circuitous and did not, after two hours, take the Gypsy clan much farther from Milton than they had been at the previous camp.

By eleven o’clock they pulled off the road into a little glade that had been well known to the leaders of the party. A new camp was established in a very short time. Tents were again erected, fires kindled for the late supper, and the life of the Gypsy town was re-begun.

But Sammy and the two little Corner House girls were forbidden to leave the van in which they had been made to ride.

Big Jim came over himself, banged Sammy with his broad palm, and told him:

“You keep-a them here – you see? If those kids get out, I knock you good. See?”

Sammy saw stars at least! He would not answer the man. There was something beside stubbornness to Sammy Pinkney. But stubbornness stood him in good stead just now.

“Don’t you mind, Tess and Dot,” he whispered, his own voice broken with half-stifled sobs. “I’ll get you out of it. We’ll run away first chance we get.”

“But it never does you any good to run away, Sammy,” complained Tess. “You only get into trouble. Dot and I don’t want to be beaten by that man. He is horrid.”

“I wish we could see those nice ladies who sold us the basket,” wailed Dot, quite desperate now. “I – I’d be glad to give ’em back the bracelet.”

“Sh!” hissed Sammy. “We’ll run away and we’ll take the bracelet along. These Gyps sha’n’t ever get it again, so there!”

“Humph! I don’t see what you have to say about that, Sammy,” scoffed Tess. “If the women own it, of course they have got to have it. But I don’t want that Big Jim to have it – not at all!”

“He won’t get it. You leave it to me,” said Sammy, with recovered assurance.

The van door was neither locked nor barred. But if the children had stepped out of it the firelight would have revealed their figures instantly to the Gypsies.

Either the women bending over the pots and pans at the fires or the children running about the encampment would have raised a hue and cry if the little captives had attempted to run away. And there were a dozen burly men sitting about, smoking and talking and awaiting the call to supper.

This meal was finally prepared. The fumes from the pots reached the nostrils of Tess, Dot, and Sammy, and they were all ravenously hungry. Nor were they denied food. The Gypsies evidently had no intention of maltreating the captives in any particular as long as they obeyed and did not try to escape.

One young woman brought a great pan of stew and bread and three spoons to the van and set it on the upper step for the children.

“You eat,” said she, smiling, and the firelight shining on her gold earrings. “It do you goot – yes?”

“Oh, Miss Gypsy!” begged Tess, “we want to go home.”

“That all right. Beeg Jeem tak-a you. To-morrow, maybe.”

She went away hurriedly. But she had left them a plentiful supper. The three were too ravenous to be delicate. They each seized a spoon and, as Sammy advised, “dug in.”

“This is the way all Gypsies eat,” he said, proud of his knowledge. “Sometimes the men use their pocket knives to cut up the meat. But they don’t seem to have any forks. And I guess forks aren’t necessary anyway.”

“But they are nicer than fingers,” objected Tess.

“Huh? Are they?” observed the young barbarian.

After they had completely cleared the pan of every scrap and eaten every crumb of bread and drunk the milk that had been brought to them in a quart cup, Dot naturally gave way to sleepiness. She began to whimper a little too.

“If that big, bad Gypsy man doesn’t take us home pretty soon I shall have to sleep here, Sister,” she complained.

“You lie right down on this bench,” said Tess kindly, “and I will cover you up and you can sleep as long as you want to.”

So Dot did this. But Sammy was not at all sleepy. His mind was too active for that. He was prowling about the more or less littered van.

“Say!” he whispered to Tess, “there is a little window here in the front overlooking the driver’s seat. And it swings on a hinge like a door.”

“I don’t care, Sammy. I – I’m sleepy, too,” confessed Tess, with a yawn behind her hand.

“Say! don’t you go to sleep like a big kid,” snapped the boy. “We’ve got to get away from these Gyps.”

“I thought you were going to stay with them forever.”

“Not to let that Big Jim bang me over the head. Not much!” ejaculated Sammy fiercely. “If my father saw him do that – ”

“But your father isn’t here. If he was – ”

“If he was you can just bet,” said Sammy with confidence, “that Big Jim would not dare hit me.”

“I – I wish your father would come and take us all home then,” went on Tess, with another yawn.

“Well,” admitted Sammy, “I wish he would, too. Crickey! but it’s awful to have girls along, whether you are a pirate or a Gypsy.”

“You needn’t talk!” snapped Tess, quite tart for her. “We did not ask to come. And you were here ‘fore we got here. And now you can’t get away any more than Dot and I can.”

“Sh!” advised Sammy again, and earnestly. “I got an idea.”

“What is it?” asked Tess, without much curiosity.

“This here window in front!” whispered the boy. “We can open it. It is all dark at that end of the van. If we can slide out on to the seat we’ll climb down in the dark and get into the woods. I know the way to the road. I can see a patch of it through the window. What say?”

“But Dot? She sleeps so hard,” breathed Tess.

“We can poke her through the window on to the seat. Then we will crawl through. If she doesn’t wake up and holler – ”

“I’ll stop her from hollering,” agreed Tess firmly. “We’ll try it, Sammy, before those awful women get back into the van.”

Fortunately for the attempt of the captives their own supper had been dispatched with promptness. The Gypsies were still sitting about over the meal when Sammy opened that front window in the van.

He and Tess lifted Dot, who complained but faintly and kept her eyes tightly closed, and pushed her feet first through the small window. The driver’s seat was broad and roomy. The little girl lay there all right while first Tess and then Sammy crept through the window.

It was dark here, and they could scarcely see the way to the ground. But Sammy ventured down first, and after barking his shins a little found the step and whispered his directions to Tess about passing Dot down to him.

They actually got to the ground themselves and brought the smallest Corner House girl with them without any serious mishap. Sammy tried to carry Dot over his shoulder, but he could not stagger far with her. And, too, the sleepy child began to object.

“Sh! Keep still!” hissed her sister in Dot’s ear. “Do you want the Gypsies to get you again?”

She had to help Sammy carry the child, however. Dot was such a heavy sleeper – especially when she first went to sleep – that nothing could really bring her back to realities. The two stumbled along with her in the deep shadows and actually reached the woods that bordered the encampment.

Suddenly a dog barked. Somebody shouted to the animal and it subsided with a sullen growl. But in a moment another dog began to yap. The guards of the camp realized that something was going wrong, although as yet none of the dogs had scented the escaping children exactly.

“Oh, hurry! Hurry!” gasped Tess. “The dogs will chase us.”

“I am afraid they will,” admitted Sammy. “We got to hide our trail.”

“How’ll we do that, Sammy?” gasped Tess.

“Like the Indians do,” declared the boy. “We got to find a stream of water and wade in it.”

“But I’ve got shoes and stockings on. And Mrs. McCall says we can’t go wading without asking permission.”

“Crickey! how you going to run away from these Gypsies if you’ve got to mind what you’re told all the time?” asked Sammy desperately.

“But won’t the water be cold? And why wade in it, anyway?”

“So the dogs can’t follow our scent. They can’t follow scent through water. Come on. We got to find a brook or something.”

“There’s the canal,” ventured Tess, in an awed whisper.

“The canal, your granny!” exclaimed the exasperated boy. “That’s over your head, Tess Kenway.”

“Well! I don’t know of any other water. Oh! Hear those dogs bark.”

“Don’t you s’pose I’ve got ears?” snapped Sammy.

“They sound awful savage.”

“Yes. They’ve got some savage dogs,” admitted the boy.

“Will they bite us? Oh, Sammy! will they bite us?”

“Not if they don’t catch us,” replied the boy, staggering on, bearing the heavier end of Dot while Tess carried her sister’s feet.

They suddenly burst through a fringe of bushes upon the open road. There was just starlight enough to show them the way. The dogs were still barking vociferously back at the Gypsy camp. But there seemed to be no pursuit.