told—and here was the very chance, she thought, as she saw the gypsy camp.
“I am very glad that you are here, Nora,” she had said to her friend, “for I should n’t exactly care to go alone, and Julia would be sure to disapprove, if I should ask her to go; and even Amy probably would n’t like to go on an adventure. She always has that kind of a stand-off air, as if she wouldn’t for the world do anything out of the ordinary.”
But now that they had really embarked on the adventure, both Nora and Brenda felt some qualms, and by singing, and indulging in more or less badinage, they were doing what is generally called, “Whistling to keep their courage up.”
As they drew near the encampment, they dismounted from their wheels, and approached the tents on foot. A little yellow dog ran out and barked at them, and a large Newfoundland rose from the grass where he had been lying, shook himself, and stared at them. The little dog, finding that he made no impression on the girls, turned from them to chase two or three hens that were standing under one of the carts. Hearing the noise, and realizing that something unusual was going on, an old woman pushed aside the curtains of the tent, and looked at them. Then she turned, and evidently spoke to some one inside, for almost immediately a young girl stepped out with a half-dozen baskets on her arm. She was the same girl whom Brenda had noticed when she drove past with her father. Her feet were bare, her scarlet calico skirt reached half-
