ran out and was just in time, for a hawk was pursuing it. When I came back the hare was burned on one side, and he beat me, and said as soon as he could lay hands on my dove he would kill it and eat it. And you know, Taka, it comes flying to my shoulder whenever it sees me, so he can easily catch it if I stay in his tent. So I have decided to run away. I will not come back unless he will let my dove alone.”
Old Taka shook her head wonderingly. “You cannot be a true gypsy,” she said. “Never before have I heard of a gypsy boy who tried to make terms with the chief. The chief does as he will, and it is for us to obey him.”
At this moment, there was a stir in the camp. Taka forgot all else in her fondness for her foster child.
“Get thee away, Peter, and hide till I give thee some sign,” she whispered.
The boy stole noiselessly through the bushes, pausing only to take a white dove that perched on a branch close at hand. He did not come back that day, though the angry chief watched for him. When nightfall came he was far away in the forest, sleeping snugly on a bed of dry leaves. He did not venture near the camp the next day. The third day, hunger drove him back. But where he expected to find the busy gypsy village, was a quiet forest glade. There were the trodden places where the tents had stood, the stakes to which the animals had been tethered, the heaps of ashes where kettles had boiled.
The knowledge that he had been left behind was paralyzing for a few minutes. Then, suddenly cheered
