I remember well the coming of those gypsies.  We were fishing in sight of the road and our fire was crackling on the smooth cropped shore.  The big wagons of the gypsies — there were four of them as red and beautiful as those of a circus caravan — halted about sundown while the men came over a moment to scan the field.  Presently they went back and turned their wagons into the siding and began to unhitch.  Then a lot of barefooted children, and women under gay shawls, overran the field gathering wood and making ready for night.  Meanwhile swarthy drivers took the horses to water and tethered them with long ropes so they could crop the grass of the roadside.

One tall, bony man, with a face almost as black as that of an Indian, brought a big iron pot and set it up near the water.  A big stew of beef bone, leeks and potatoes began to cook shortly, and I remember it had such a goodly smell I was minded to ask them for a taste of it.  A little city of strange people had surrounded us of a sudden.  Uncle Eb thought of going on, but the night was coming fast and there would be no moon and we were footsore and hungry.  Women and children came over to our fire, after supper, and made more of me than I liked.  I remember taking refuge between the knees of Uncle Eb, and Fred sat close in front of us growling fiercely when they came too near.  They stood about, looking down at us and whispered together, and one young miss of the tribe came up and tried to kiss me in spite of Fred’s warnings:  She had flashing black eyes and hair as dark as the night, that fell in a curling mass upon her shoulders; but, somehow, I had a mighty fear of her and fought with desperation to keep my face from the touch of her red lips.  Uncle Eb laughed and held Fred by the collar, and I began to cry out in terror, presently, when, to my great relief, she let go and ran away to her own people.  They all went away to their wagons, save one young man, who was tall with light hair and a fair skin, and who looked like none of the other gypsies.

‘Take care of yourself,’ he whispered, as soon as the rest had gone.  ‘These are bad people.  You’d better be off.’

The young man left us and Uncle Eb began to pack up at once.  They were going to bed in their wagons when we came away.  I stood in the basket and Fred drew the wagon that had in it only a few bundles.  A mile or more further on we came to a lonely, deserted cabin close to the road.  It had began to thunder in the distance and the wind was blowing damp.

‘Guess nobody lives here,’ said Uncle Eb as he turned in at the sagging gate and began to cross the little patch of weeds and hollyhocks behind it ’Door’s half down, but I guess it’ll de better’n no house.  Goin’ t’ rain sartin.’

I was nodding a little about then, I remember; but I was wide awake when he took me out of the basket The old house stood on a high hill, and we could see the stars of heaven through the ruined door and one of the back windows.  Uncle Eb lifted the leaning door a little and shoved it aside.  We heard then a quick stir in the old house — a loud and ghostly rattle it seems now as I think of it — like that made by linen shaking on the line.  Uncle Eb took a step backward as if it had startled him.