“Quite—nay, better; for the school-boys
may find me out, but not you. But now observe,
when we come to the next cross road, we must get down—at
least, I expect so; but we shall know in a minute.”
In about the time he mentioned, a dark, gipsy-looking
man looked into the wagon, and spoke to our acquaintance
in an unknown language. He replied in the same,
and the man disappeared. We continued our route
for about a quarter of an hour, when he got out, asked
us to follow him, and speaking a few words to the
fool, which I did not hear, left him and the boy in
the wagon. We paid our fare, took possession of
our bundles, and followed our new companion for a
few minutes on the cross road, when he stopped, and
said, “I must now leave you, to prepare for your
reception into our fraternity; continue straight on
this road until you arrive at a lime-kiln, and wait
there till I come.”
He sprang over a stile, and took a direction verging
at an angle from the road, forced his way through
a hedge, and disappeared from our sight. “Upon
my word, Timothy,” said I, “I hardly know
what to say to this. Have we done right in trusting
to this man, who, I am afraid! is a great rogue?
I do not much like mixing with these gipsy people,
for such I am sure he belongs to.”
“I really do not see how we can do better,”
replied Timothy. “The world is all before
us, and we must force our own way through it.
As for his being a quack doctor, I see no great harm
in that. People put their faith in nostrums more
than they do in regular medicines; and it is well
known that quack medicines, as they call them, cure
as often as others, merely for that very reason.”
“Very true, Timothy; the mind once at ease,
the body soon recovers, and faith, even in quack medicines,
will often make people whole; but do you think that
he does no more than impose upon people in that way?”
“He may, or he may not; at all events, we need
do no more, I suppose.”
“I am not sure of that; however, we shall see.
He says we may be useful to him, and I suppose we
shall be, or he would not have engaged us—we
shall soon find out.”
In which the reader
is introduced to several new acquaintances, and
all connected with them,
except birth and parentage, which appears
to be the one thing
wanting throughout the whole of this work.
By this time we had arrived at the lime-kiln to which
we had been directed, and we sat down on our bundles,
chatting for about five minutes, when our new acquaintance
made his appearance, with something in his hand, tied
up in a handkerchief.
“You may as well put your coats into your bundles,
and put on these frocks,” said he, “you
will appear better among us, and be better received,
for there is a gathering now, and some of them
are queer customers. However, you have nothing
to fear; when once you are with my wife and me, you
are quite safe; her little finger would protect you
from five hundred.”
