All day long--it was now the third day since they had been stolen--the
two or three covered vans or waggons which contained the gipsies and
their possessions jogged slowly along the roads and lanes. Now and then
they halted for a few hours if they came to any village or small town
where it seemed likely that they could do a little business, either in
selling their crockery or cheap cutlery, baskets, and suchlike, or
perhaps in fortune-telling, and no doubt wherever they stopped the
farm-yards and poultry-yards in the neighbourhood were none the better
for it. At such times Duke and Pamela were always hidden away deep in
the recesses of one of the waggons, so there was nothing they dreaded
more than when they saw signs of making a halt. It was wretched to be
huddled for hours together in a dark corner among all sorts of dirty
packages, while the other children were allowed to run about the village
street picking up any odd pence they could by playing tricks or selling
little trifles out of the general repository. And the brother and sister
were not at all consoled by being told that before long they should be
dressed up in beautiful gold and silver clothes--"like a real prince and
princess," said Mick, once when he was in a good humour--and taught to
dance like fairies.
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