‘Then you don’t like me?’

’Neither like you nor dislike you, brother; what will you have for that kekaubi?’

’What’s the use of talking to me in that unchristian way; what do you mean, young gentlewoman?’

’Lord, brother, what a fool you are; every tinker knows what a kekaubi is.  I was asking you what you would have for that kettle.’

‘Three-and-sixpence, young gentlewoman; isn’t it well mended?’

’Well mended!  I could have done it better myself; three-and-sixpence! it’s only fit to be played at football with.’

’I will take no less for it, young gentlewoman; it has caused me a world of trouble.’

‘I never saw a worse mended kettle.  I say, brother, your hair is white.’

‘’Tis nature; your hair is black; nature, nothing but nature.’

’I am young, brother; my hair is black—­that’s nature:  you are young, brother; your hair is white—­that’s not nature.’

’I can’t help it if it be not, but it is nature after all; did you never see gray hair on the young?’

’Never!  I have heard it is true of a gray lad, and a bad one he was.  Oh, so bad.’

’Sit down on the grass, and tell me all about it, sister; do, to oblige me, pretty sister.’

’Hey, brother, you don’t speak as you did—­you don’t speak like a gorgio, you speak like one of us, you call me sister.’

‘As you call me brother; I am not an uncivil person after all, sister.’

’I say, brother, tell me one thing, and look me in the face—­there—­do you speak Rommany?’

‘Rommany!  Rommany! what is Rommany?’

’What is Rommany? our language to be sure; tell me, brother, only one thing, you don’t speak Rommany?’

‘You say it.’

‘I don’t say it, I wish to know.  Do you speak Rommany?’

‘Do you mean thieves’ slang—­cant? no, I don’t speak cant, don’t like it, I only know a few words; they call a sixpence a tanner, don’t they?’

‘I don’t know,’ said the girl, sitting down on the ground, ’I was almost thinking—­well, never mind, you don’t know Rommany.  I say, brother, I think I should like to have the kekaubi.’

‘I thought you said it was badly mended?’

‘Yes, yes, brother, but—­’

‘I thought you said it was only fit to be played at football with?’

‘Yes, yes, brother, but—­’

‘What will you give for it?’

’Brother, I am the poor person’s child, I will give you sixpence for the kekaubi.’

‘Poor person’s child; how came you by that necklace?’

‘Be civil, brother; am I to have the kekaubi?’

‘Not for sixpence; isn’t the kettle nicely mended?’

’I never saw a nicer mended kettle, brother; am I to have the kekaubi, brother?’

‘You like me then?’

’I don’t dislike you—­I dislike no one; there’s only one, and him I don’t dislike, him I hate.’