There was the usual talk about how each one had had trouble—which was true enough—and that each one was to have more which, perhaps, in the nature of events, was still more true. But “all would come out well in the end;” and then, too, was talk of dark-haired strangers—and light-haired ones—of the male variety—who would play more or less havoc3 with hearts and minds.
But through it all the girls felt sure there was an undercurrent of worriment in the camp. At times some of the men would get up and move off, accompanied by a dog or two.
Some took horses with them, sitting lazily on the bare backs of the nags4, cross-fashion, too slovenly5, it seemed to ride astraddle, or even to throw on a sack for a saddle. Whether they rode out to do some trading, or on another errand was not disclosed.
Then, too, when Mrs. Bonnell had finished with her fortune, in which, truth to tell, she was not much interested, a young man, handsome enough in his Gypsy fashion, hurried into the camp. He strode into the tent of Neezar, the Queen, before Mrs. Bonnell had fished the change out of her net purse, and began an excited utterance6 in some unknown tongue—probably the Gypsy argot—which sounded like Bohemian.
“Cha!” was the only word the old Gypsy uttered, but it was enough and sent the abashed7 young man out of the tent in a hurry, his flow of talk ceasing.
“Their everlasting8 quarrels—what have I to do with them? They are ever at me to settle their disputes!” exclaimed Neezar. “I will have none of it,” and she looked at Mrs. Bonnell shrewdly. “It was about a horse,” she needlessly explained. “The young men are much trouble.”
“And you rule over them also,” asked the Guardian9.
“Yes, over all.”
“And did Hadee dispute your authority?”
It was a shrewd guess Mrs. Bonnell thought, for the aged10 Gypsy looked at her suspiciously.
“What do you know of Hadee?” came the quick question.
“Very little. She told the fortune of a friend of mine, and I thought I should like to have her tell my own.”
“Perhaps she will—when she comes back,” replied the Queen, and Mrs. Bonnell thought there was a twinkle in the deep-set eyes. “Hadee told fortunes very well.”
“Would hers be any different from the one you have told me?”
“How could it—your fortune is your fortune—always the same. No one can change it, though one person might reveal more than another—perhaps reveal more than would be good for you. You have suffered—I can see it. You have had a loss.”
That was evident, for Mrs. Bonnell, in spite of the fact that she had laid aside black for the attire11 of the Camp Fire Girls, while in the woods, still kept her jet earrings12 and the simple little black pin at her throat. It needed no prophetess to tell that she had suffered.
“When do you think Hadee will come back?” asked the Guardian.
“How can we tell? We Gypsies are not like you white folks, lady. We do strange things. We were born to wander and we wander. Doubtless Hadee will come back—when she chooses.”
“Are her parents here?”
“They are dead. Now I beg your pardon, but I must see to my camp. There is much to do, though we lead a simple life. Ah! the others have had their fortunes told,” and she opened the tent for her visitor who saw Natalie and the other girls emerging from the other little canvas houses, gaudily13 decorated, and painted with the various names of the “Princesses” who deigned14, for a small piece of silver, to tear aside the curtain of the future.
Mrs. Bonnell saw Neezar hurry over to the young man who had shown such excitement, and then the Guardian went up to Natalie, about whom the other girls clustered.
“Tell us what she said, Nat,” urged Mabel.
“It wasn’t anything—really.”
“Did she tell you how soon you were going to get married?”
“I never am!”
“Oh!” came in a chorus of protest, and Natalie blushed.
Then they told each other snatches of what had been revealed to them. They all agreed it was not at all like the fortunes Hadee had told them the time the diamond ring was missed. Then, as they walked through the camp, on the way to where they had left their lunch-baskets, they became aware that the excitement was increasing, though the Gypsies did their best to make it seem of little moment.
Several men leaped on horses and rode off down the road, and one of the young “Princesses” started off on foot at a rapid pace in the opposite direction.
“What could have happened?” asked Marie.
“Maybe they’ve got word that they are going to be arrested,” suggested Mabel.
“No, I think it can’t be that,” said Mrs. Bonnell.
“They’d all be leaving if they were going to be raided,” said Natalie.
“Well, we’ll tell that constable15, who nearly arrested you, Nat, where to find the camp,” suggested Alice. “He may be able to get back Mrs. Anderson’s ring.”
“Oh, I hope so!” exclaimed Mabel, “but I’m not very sanguine16.”
“Won’t the boys be surprised when we tell them that we located the Gypsies?” asked Marie.
“And vexed17, too,” added Alice. “They were so sure they would find the camp themselves.”
They passed from the bounds of the encampment, and were soon on their way to where they had left their boats, stopping when they reached the deep spring to partake of the rest of their lunch, for it was certain, now, that they would not get lost, and the shadows had not much lengthened18.
“We’ll get back to camp long before supper,” said Mabel.
“I wonder what could be going on back there?” mused19 Marie.
“And what has happened to poor Hadee?” spoke20 Natalie. “She was a pretty little thing. I hope she isn’t in trouble.”
“She looked able to take care of herself,” said Alice.
“Well, certainly there is something wrong,” declared Mrs. Bonnell. “That one who called herself a queen was really anxious to get rid of me, and Gypsies seldom do that if you have money.”
They discussed the matter from various standpoints, but could come to no decision. They rowed back leisurely21, well satisfied, in a measure, with their day’s outing.
“Let’s stop off and see how Old Hanson is getting on at the mysterious mill,” suggested Natalie. “Poor old man—to think he took me for some one he knew.”
“Natalie is keeping quite in the lime-light since we came to camp,” laughed Marie. “Well, let’s go, it’s early yet.”
They turned their boats toward the shore of the lake where the old mill was, and, in due time, were walking toward the ancient structure.
As they neared it they heard a confusion of voices, and the rattle22 of goods being loaded into a wagon23. Also admonitions to horses to “stand still, can’t yer?”
“What can be going on?” asked Mabel.
They soon saw. In front of the mill was a farm wagon, and old Hanson and another man were carrying the hermit24’s goods from the shack25, and putting them in the vehicle.
“Why, Mr. Rossmore!” exclaimed Mrs. Bonnell, as she and the girls came up, “are you moving?”
“Yes, ma’am, and I can’t git away any too soon.”
“Where are you going?” asked Mabel.
“Over on Mr. Applebaum’s farm. It was his wife that the Gypsies robbed of a pocket-book,” he added. “I’m going to live with him. He’s a sort of second cousin of mine.”
“Then you’re going to desert the dear old mill.”
“Yes, ma’am. I wouldn’t stay here another night—not if you was to give me fifty dollars—yes or seventy-five dollars. No, sir!”
“Why, what is the trouble?” asked Natalie, yet by instinct she seemed to anticipate the answer.
“The hant; that’s what the matter. It’s gittin’ wuss. I wouldn’t stay here another night. I’m done!”
“The hant,” repeated Marie, not quite understanding.
“He means the haunt,” exclaimed Mabel in a whisper.
“Oh!”
“Yes, ma’am—the ghost,” went on Old Hanson. “Th’ hant. It’s drove me out, and I never thought it would. I thought I could stand most anything, but it’s got terrible bad lately.”
“How—what does er—it—do?” faltered26 Mrs. Bonnell. Somehow, it seemed rather uncanny to talk about the matter.
“Oh, it goes on something terrible!” exclaimed the old hermit. “Groans and cryin’ in the middle of the night, an’ movin’ about—takin’ things——”
“Taking things?”
“Yep—lots of my things has disappeared—my blankets and some of my grub—I ain’t goin’ t’ stand it; I’m movin’!”
“Does—it—really groan27?” asked Mabel, and she could not repress a shiver.
“Yes, ma’am, it do. An’ cries, too. I heard it all last night, an’ I couldn’t sleep. And when I go in the old mill day-times, something like a cold wind brushes past me.”
“Maybe it is a cold wind,” suggested Alice. “I’m sure the old place must be draughty enough.”
“It wa’n’t no wind,” affirmed the old man, as he piled a chair on top of his scanty28 belongings29 in the wagon. The other—evidently a hired man—did not talk, except to the horses.
“So I’m goin’ t’ pull out,” went on Old Hanson. “Th’ mill’s mine—sech as ’tis—but the hant can have it if it wants it. I’ve got no use fer it. I want t’ sleep in peace nights. Sech groans—sech cries—you never heard th’ like.”
Something like a cold chill seemed to pass over the girls as they looked up at the old mill. And then Natalie set their nerves more in a flutter by suddenly exclaiming:
“There! Look there! At the upper window. I’m sure I saw a face!”
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1
jargon
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| n.术语，行话 | |
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tellers
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| n.（银行）出纳员( teller的名词复数 )；（投票时的）计票员；讲故事等的人；讲述者 | |
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havoc
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| n.大破坏，浩劫，大混乱，大杂乱 | |
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4
nags
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| n.不断地挑剔或批评（某人）( nag的名词复数 )；不断地烦扰或伤害（某人）；无休止地抱怨；不断指责v.不断地挑剔或批评（某人）( nag的第三人称单数 )；不断地烦扰或伤害（某人）；无休止地抱怨；不断指责 | |
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5
slovenly
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| adj.懒散的，不整齐的，邋遢的 | |
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6
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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7
abashed
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| adj.窘迫的，尴尬的v.使羞愧，使局促，使窘迫( abash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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8
everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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9
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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10
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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11
attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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12
earrings
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| n.耳环( earring的名词复数 )；耳坠子 | |
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13
gaudily
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| adv.俗丽地 | |
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14
deigned
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| v.屈尊，俯就( deign的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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15
constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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16
sanguine
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| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
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17
vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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18
lengthened
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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19
mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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20
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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21
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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22
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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23
wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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24
hermit
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| n.隐士，修道者；隐居 | |
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25
shack
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| adj.简陋的小屋，窝棚 | |
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26
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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27
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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28
scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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