“Yes, let’s do that, King,” said Marjorie, looking at her brother, amazed at his ungracious actions.

But King persisted in his determination.  “No, thank you,” he said to the woman in a decided way; “you’re very kind, but we don’t care for any milk, and we must go right on to Pelton.”

“And I say you must stay right here,” said the woman, in much sterner tones than she had used before, and taking the children each by an arm, she pushed them ahead of her inside of the largest tent.

CHAPTER V

HELD CAPTIVE

Then King’s fears were realized.  He had suspected these people were gypsies, and now he discovered that they were.  Inside the tent were three or four men and women, all of the dark, gypsy type, and wearing the strange, bright-colored garments characteristic of their tribe.  They did not seem ill-disposed toward the visitors, but welcomed them cordially, and one of the women went at once for a pitcher of milk, and brought it, with two glasses, which she set on the table.

King was not exactly frightened, for they all seemed pleasant and kind enough, but he couldn’t help remembering how gypsies were credited with the habit of stealing children, and holding them for ransom.  “But only babies,” he thought to himself; “I don’t believe they ever steal such big kids as Marjorie and me.”

King was fifteen, and tall for his age, and as he looked at Marjorie he realized that she was a big girl, too, and he felt sure they were beyond the age of being kidnapped.  But as he noted the furtive glances which were cast at them by the gypsies, he again felt alarmed, and glanced at Marjorie to see if her thoughts were like his own.

But they were not.  Marjorie was chatting gaily with the good-looking young woman who had brought her into the tent, and she was accepting an invitation to have a glass of milk and a cracker.

As an old gypsy woman poured the milk from the pitcher into the glass, she turned her back to Marjorie, but King’s alert eyes could see her shaking a small portion of white powder into the milk.

Like a flash it came to King what it all meant!  They were kidnappers, these wicked gypsies, and they meant to put some drug in the milk that the children drank, so they would go to sleep, and then the kidnappers would carry them away!

King thought rapidly.  He couldn’t let Marjorie drink that milk,—­and yet if he made a fuss about it, they could easily overpower him.  He determined to use strategy.

“Let me pass the glass to my sister,” he said, jumping up, and going to take the glass from the old woman who had poured it.  Unsuspectingly, she let him take it, but as he turned, he stumbled, purposely, against the table leg, and spilled all the milk on the ground.

“Oh, excuse me,” he said, politely.  “Now we shall have to go without a drink of milk!  But we are just as much obliged, and we bid you good-morning.  Come, Midget.”