THE GIPSIES HAD GONE 17

Neeta’s father was profuse in his thanks, and her
mother also.

In her sweet childish voice, Neeta sang the boys a
Spanish song, accompanying herself on the mandoline,
and so with talking and singing, nearly two hours
passed by quickly enough.

Then, hoping they would all meet again somewhere,
the gipsies bade our heroes good-bye, and the last
thing they saw when they looked through the darkness,
was Neeta standing in the back-doorway waving them
an adieu with her handkerchief.

Early next morning, the young men, or lads shall
we say, for in years they were nothing more, went for
an hour’s rabbit-shooting before breakfast.

Said Douglas Stuart: “Let us just wander round
by the Dead-man’s Copse, and see how the gipsies
look by daylight. Besides, I want to show Neeta
another fly. The child really knows more than I do
about fishing.”

Said Carleton: “I’m with you. Right shoulders
forward—march !”

But early though it was, when they reached the com-
mon, they found that the birds of passage had flown.

Carleton heaved a sigh.

“Douglas,” he said about twenty minutes after, as
they neared Pine Lodge, “sit down here on this fallen
tree, Ive got an idea.”

As he spoke he removed the cartridges from his
gun and stowed them away in his belt.

B