“This is the robbers’ cave.”

“And is it within its dark recesses that we are to eat our dinner?” Pepeeta asked, imitating his melodramatic manner.

“Yes!  No one in the world knows of it, but Uncle Dave and me.  We always used to cook our dinner here, and play we were robbers.”

Pepeeta saw the ashes of fires which had been built at the entrance, an old iron kettle hanging on a projecting root, a coffee pot standing on a ledge of a rock, and fragments of broken dishes scattered about, and entered with all her heart into an adventure so suddenly recalling the vanished scenes of her gypsy childhood.  The eyes of the boy glistened with delight as he perceived the unmistakable evidences of her enjoyment.

“And so this is your secret!” she exclaimed.

“Not by a good deal!” he answered, “Thee is not to know the real secret until we have had our dinner.  I will build the fire and clean the fish, and if thee knows how, thee can cook them.”

“Oh, you need not think I don’t know anything—­just because I cannot skip stones and bait hooks,” Pepeeta said gaily, and with that they both bustled about and before long the smoke was curling up into the still air, and the fragrant odor of coffee was perfuming the wilderness.

While they were waiting for the fish to fry, Pepeeta regaled her enchanted listener with such fragments of the story of her gypsy life as she could piece together out of the wrecks of that time.  He was overpowered with astonishment, and the idea that he was sitting opposite to a real gypsy, at the mouth of a cave, filled up the measure of his romantic fancy and perfected his happiness.  He hung upon her words and kept her talking until the last crust had been devoured and she had repeated again and again the most trivial remembrances of those far off days.

The boy’s bliss had reached its utmost limit, and yet had not surpassed the woman’s.  The vigorous walk through the woods; the silent ministrations of nature; the simple food; the sweet imaginative associations with David; but above all that most recreative force in nature,—­the presence and prattle of a child,—­filled her sad heart with a happiness of which she had believed herself forever incapable.

They sat for a few moments in silence, after Pepeeta had finished one of her most charming reminiscences, and then Steven, springing to his feet, exclaimed: 

“Why, Pepeeta, we have forgotten the secret!  Come and I will show it to thee.”

She took his proffered hand and was led into the depths of the cavern.

“Thee must shut thy eyes,” he said.

“Oh! but I am so frightened,” she answered, pretending to shudder and draw back.

“Thee need not be afraid.  I will protect thee,” he said, reassuringly.

She obeyed him, and they moved forward.

“Are thy eyes shut tight?  How many fingers do I hold up?” he asked, raising his hand.