So much was I occupied with these reminiscences that I had not observed that during our absence our camp had been honoured by visitors.  These were Jericho Boswell, christened, I believe, Jasper, his daughter Rhona, and James Herne, called on account of his accomplishments as a penman the Scollard.  Although Jasper Boswell and Panuel Lovell were rival Griengroes, there was no jealousy between them—­indeed, they were excellent friends.

There were many points of similarity between their characters.  Each had risen from comparative poverty to what might be called wealth, and risen in the same way, that is to say, by straightforward dealing with the Gorgios, although as regarded Jericho, Rhona was generally credited with having acted as a great auxiliary in amassing his wealth.  All over the country the farmers and horse-dealers knew that neither Jasper nor Panuel ever bishoped a gry, or indulged in any other horse-dealing tricks.  Their very simplicity of character had done what all the crafty tricks of certain compeers of theirs had failed to do.  They were also very much alike in their good-natured and humorous, way of taking all the ups and downs of life.

A very different kind of Romany was the Scollard—­so different, indeed, that it was hard to think that he was of the same race:  Romany guile incarnate was the Scollard.  He suggested even in his personal appearance the typical Gypsy of the novel and the stage, rather than the true Gypsy as he lives and moves.  The Scollard was well known to be half-crazed with a passion for Rhona Boswell, who was the fiancee of that cousin of mine, Percy Aylwin, before mentioned.  Percy was considered to be a hopelessly erratic character.  Much against the wish of his parents, he had been brought up as a sailor; but on seeing Rhona Boswell he promptly fell in love with her, and quitted the sea in order to be near her.  And no man who ever heard Rhona’s laugh professed to wonder at Percy’s infatuation.  As a Griengro her father, Jericho Boswell, who had no son, was said to have owed his prosperity to Rhona’s instinctive knowledge of horseflesh.

While our guests, Romany and Gorgio, were doing justice to the trout, Welsh brown bread and butter and jam which Videy had spread before them, Sinfi went to the back of the camp to look at the ponies, and I got into conversation with Rhona Boswell, whom I remembered so well as a child.  At first she was shy and embarrassed, doubtful, as I perceived, whether or not she ought to talk about Winnie.  She waited to see whether I introduced the subject, and finding that I did not, she began to talk about Sinfi and plied me with questions as to what we two had been doing and where we had been during our wanderings through Wales.

When tea was over and Cyril was in lively talk with Sinfi, Wilderspin grew restless, and I perceived that he wanted to resume his conversation with me about his picture.  I said to him:  ’This idea o f my father’s which has inspired you, and resulted in such great work, what is its nature?’