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“That’s pritty; come, then. Why, what a nice little lady you are, to be sure!” said the gipsy, taking her by the hand. Maggie thought her very nice, but wished she had not been so dirty.

There was quite a group round the fire when they reached it. An old gipsy-woman was seated on the ground nursing her knees, and poking a skewer into the round kettle that sent forth an odorous steam; two small, shock-headed children were lying down resting on their elbows; and a donkey was bending his head over a tall girl, who, lying on her back, was scratching his nose and feeding him with a bite of excellent stolen hay.

The slanting sunlight fell kindly upon them, and the scene was really very pretty and comfortable, Maggie thought, only she hoped they would soon set out the tea-cups. It was a little confusing, though, that the young woman began to speak to the old one in a language which Maggie did not understand, while the tall girl who was feeding the donkey sat up and stared at her. At last the old woman said,–

“What, my pretty lady, are you come to stay with us? Sit ye down, and tell us where you come from.”

It was just like a story. Maggie liked to be called pretty lady and treated in this way. She sat down and said,–

“I’m come from home because I’m unhappy, and I mean to be a gipsy. I’ll live with you, if you like, and I can teach you a great many things.”

“Such a clever little lady,” said the woman with the baby, sitting down by Maggie, and allowing baby to crawl; “and such a pritty bonnet and frock,” she added, taking off Maggie’s bonnet and looking at it while she spoke to the old woman in the unknown language. The tall girl snatched the bonnet and put it on her own head hind-foremost with a grin; but Maggie was determined not to show that she cared about her bonnet.

“I don’t want to wear a bonnet,” she said; “I’d rather wear a red handkerchief, like yours” (looking at her friend by her side). “My hair was quite long till yesterday, when I cut it off; but I dare say it will grow again very soon.”

“Oh, what a nice little lady!–and rich, I’m sure,” said the old woman. “Didn’t you live in a beautiful house at home?”

“Yes, my home is pretty, and I’m very fond of the river, where we go fishing; but I’m often very unhappy. I should have liked to bring my books with me, but I came away in a hurry, you know. But I can tell you almost everything there is in my books, I’ve read them so many times, and that will amuse you. And I can tell you something about geography too–that’s about the world we live in–very useful and interesting. Did you ever hear about Columbus?”

“Is that where you live, my little lady?” said the old woman at the mention of Columbus.

“Oh no!” said Maggie, with some pity. “Columbus was a very wonderful man, who found out half the world; and they put chains on him and treated him very badly, you know–but perhaps it’s rather too long to tell before tea. I want my tea so.”

“Why, she’s hungry, poor little lady,” said the younger woman. “Give her some o’ the cold victual.–You’ve been walking a good way, I’ll be bound, my dear. Where’s your home?”

“It’s Dorlcote Mill–a good way off,” said Maggie. “My father is Mr. Tulliver; but we mustn’t let him know where I am, else he’ll fetch me home again. Where does the queen of the gipsies live?”

“What! do you want to go to her, my little lady?” said the younger woman.

“No,” said Maggie; “I’m only thinking that if she isn’t a very good queen you might be glad when she died, and you could choose another. If I was a queen, I’d be a very good queen, and kind to everybody.”