The Return of the Gypsy Read Free

him.
    “Good afternoon, my lady,” he said in a musical voice.
    “Good afternoon,” I replied.
    Amaryllis was now beside me.
    He rose and bowed. “What a pleasure to meet not only one beautiful lady—but two.”
    “Who are you?” I asked.
    “A gypsy. A wanderer on the face of the earth.”
    “Where have you wandered from?”
    “From all over the country.”
    “Are you encamped here?”
    He waved his hands.
    I said: “These are my father’s woods.”
    “I am sure the father of such a charming young lady would not grudge the poor gypsies a spot on which to rest their caravans.”
    “Miss Jessica! Miss Amaryllis!” It was Miss Rennie. She was close by.
    “We’re here, Miss Rennie,” called Amaryllis.
    The gypsy looked on with some amusement as Miss Rennie came into sight.
    “Oh there you are! How many times have I told you not to go on ahead of me? It is most unseemly.” She stopped short. She had seen the man and was horrified. She took her duties very seriously and the thought of her charges coming into contact with strangers—and a man at that—momentarily stunned her.
    “What… what are you doing?” she stammered.
    “Nothing,” I replied. “We have just got here and have met…”
    He bowed to Miss Rennie. “Jake Cadorson, at your service, Madam.”
    “What?” cried Miss Rennie shrilly.
    “I am Cornish, Madam,” he went on, smiling as though he found the situation very amusing, “and Cador in the Cornish language means Warrior. So Cador son… the son of a warrior. For convenience my gypsy friends call me Romany Jake.”
    “Very interesting, I am sure,” said Miss Rennie, recovering her composure. “Now we must get back or we shall be late for tea.”
    He bowed again and resuming his seat under the tree he began to strum on the guitar; as we turned away he started to sing. I could not resist looking back. He saw me and putting his fingers to his lips blew me a kiss. I felt extraordinarily excited. I rode on in a sort of daze. I could hear his strong and rather pleasant voice as we went on to the edge of the wood.
    “I must insist that you stay with me when we are riding,” Miss Rennie was saying. “That was an unfortunate encounter. Gypsies in the woods! I don’t know what Mr. Frenshaw will have to say about that.”
    “They always have permission to rest there as long as they are careful about fire—and there is not much danger of that after all the rain we have had,” I said.
    “I shall report what we have seen to Mr. Frenshaw,” continued Miss Rennie. “And I must ask you, Jessica, to be more obedient to my wishes. I do not wish to have to tell your parents that you are disobedient. I am sure that would grieve them.”
    I thought of my father’s receiving the news and I could picture that look on his face when he was trying not to smile. His daughter was very much what he must have been at her age, and parents like their children to resemble them even in their less admirable qualities; so I did not think he would be greatly grieved.
    As for myself, I could not stop thinking of the man under the tree. Romany Jake! A gypsy… and yet he did not seem quite like other gypsies I had seen. He was like one of the gentlemen who were friends of my parents… only dressed up as a gypsy. He had fascinated me. He was very bold. What would Miss Rennie say if she knew he had thrown me a kiss when I had looked back? I toyed with the idea of telling her, but desisted. Perhaps that would be something which would be unwise to come to my parents’ ears.
    True to her word she told either my father or my mother and the subject was raised at dinner that night.
    “So we have gypsies in the woods,” said my father.
    “They always come south towards winter,” commented David.
    My father turned to me. “So you saw them today.”
    “Only one. He said he was Romany Jake.”
    “So you spoke to him.”
    “Well, just for a few minutes. He had an orange-coloured shirt and a guitar. There were