“The other women are out selling baskets, and the children are with them, I suppose. But the men, oh, they go down to Lynn on the train, or anywhere, where they think they can buy or sell a horse. That’s their trade, horse-selling.”
“Oh,” Nora was now becoming interested, and inclined to ask questions. The old woman had seated herself on the ground, although there were several chairs in the tent, and Brenda leaned against a packing-case, the inside of which had been fitted up like a dresser, with some rough shelves to hold odds and ends of dishes and food.
“Come, Nora,” cried Brenda, “I thought that you were in a hurry.”
“Why, yes, I am,” and Nora left the tent reluctantly, for she was just beginning to get the information that she wanted about gypsy modes of living.
“Are n’t they picturesque?” said Brenda, looking back, as they mounted their wheels, to the little encampment, with the two women and the girl standing in front of the kitchen tent, with the large van in the background, and the tethered horses and the chickens adding another element of life to the scene.
“We ’re not going to get home any too soon,” said Nora; “it seems to me that those clouds mean rain. We must go as fast as we can.”
“Yes, we must,” responded Brenda, putting all the speed that she could into her wheel, regardless of the fact that they were at a turn of the road, and near the top of an incline.
