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A World of Girls: The Story of a School, a novel by L. T. Meade |
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Chapter 45. Tiger |
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_ CHAPTER XLV. TIGER It was still very, very early in the morning, and the gypsy folk, tired from their march on the preceding day, slept. There stood the conical, queer-shaped tents, four in number; at a little distance off grazed the donkeys and a couple of rough mules; at the door of the tents lay stretched out in profound repose two or three dogs. Annie dreaded the barking of the dogs, although she guessed that if they set up a noise, and a gypsy wife or man put out their heads in consequence, they would only desire the gypsy child to lie down and keep quiet. She stood still for a moment--she was very anxious to prowl around the place and examine the ground while the gypsies still slept, but the watchful dogs deterred her. She stood perfectly quiet behind the hedgerow, thinking hard. Should she trust to a charm she knew she possessed, and venture into the encampment? Annie had almost as great a fascination over dogs and cats as she had over children. As a little child going to visit with her mother at strange houses, the watch-dogs never barked at her; on the contrary, they yielded to the charm which seemed to come from her little fingers as she patted their great heads. Slowly their tails would move backward and forward as she patted them, and even the most ferocious would look at her with affection. Annie wondered if the gypsy dogs would now allow her to approach without barking. She felt that the chances were in her favor; she was dressed in gypsy garments, there would be nothing strange in her appearance, and if she could get near one of the dogs she knew that she could exercise the magic of her touch. Her object, then, was to approach one of the tents very, very quietly--so softly that even the dog's ears should not detect the light footfall. If she could approach close enough to put her hand on the dog's neck all would be well. She pulled off the gypsy maid's rough shoes, hid them in the grass where she could find them again, and came gingerly step by step, nearer and nearer the principal tent. At its entrance lay a ferocious-looking half-bred bull-dog. Annie possessed that necessary accompaniment to courage--great outward calm; the greater the danger, the more cool and self-possessed did she become. She was within a step or two of the tent when she trod accidentally on a small twig; it cracked, giving her foot a sharp pain, and very slight as the sound was, causing the bull-dog to awake. He raised his wicked face, saw the figure like his own people, and yet unlike, but a step or two away, and, uttering a low growl, sprang forward. In the ordinary course of things this growl would have risen in volume and would have terminated in a volley of barking; but Annie was prepared: she went down on her knees, held out her arms, said, "Poor fellow!" in her own seductive voice, and the bull-dog fawned at her feet. He licked one of her hands while she patted him gently with the other. "Come, poor fellow," she said then in a gentle tone, and Annie and the dog began to perambulate round the tents. The other dogs raised sleepy eyes, but seeing Tiger and the girl together, took no notice whatever, except by a thwack or two of their stumpy tails. Annie was now looking not only at the tents, but for something else which Zillah, her nurse, had told her might be found near to many gypsy encampments. This was a small subterranean passage, which generally led into a long-disused underground Danish fort. Zillah had told her what uses the gypsies liked to make of these underground passages, and how they often chose those which had two entrances. She told her that in this way they eluded the police, and were enabled successfully to hide the goods which they stole. She had also described to her their great ingenuity in hiding the entrances to these underground retreats. Annie's idea now was that little Nan was hidden in one of these vaults, and she determined first to make sure of its existence, and then to venture herself into this underground region in search of the lost child. She had made a decided conquest in the person of Tiger, who followed her round and round the tents, and when the gypsies at last began to stir, and Annie crept into the hedgerow, the dog crouched by her side. Tiger was the favorite dog of the camp, and presently one of the men called to him; he rose unwillingly, looked back with longing eyes at Annie, and trotted off, to return in the space of about five minutes with a great hunch of broken bread in his mouth. This was his breakfast, and he meant to share it with his new friend. Annie was too hungry to be fastidious, and she also knew the necessity of keeping up her strength. She crept still farther under the hedge, and the dog and girl shared the broken bread between them. Presently the tents were all astir; the gypsy children began to swarm about, the women lit fires in the open air, and the smell of very appetizing breakfasts filled the atmosphere. The men also lounged into view, standing lazily at the doors of their tents, and smoking great pipes of tobacco. Annie lay quiet. She could see from her hiding-place without being seen. Suddenly--and her eyes began to dilate, and she found her heart beating strangely--she laid her hand on Tiger, who was quivering all over. "Stay with me, dear dog," she said. There was a great commotion and excitement in the gypsy camp; the children screamed and ran into the tents, the women paused in their preparation for breakfast, the men took their short pipes out of their mouths; every dog, with the exception of Tiger, barked ferociously. Tiger and Annie alone were motionless. The cause of all this uproar was a body of police, about six in number, who came boldly into the field, and demanded instantly to search the tents. "We want a woman who calls herself Mother Rachel," they said. "She belongs to this encampment. We know her; let her come forward at once; we wish to question her." The men stood about; the women came near; the children crept out of their tents, placing their fingers to their frightened lips, and staring at the men who represented those horrors to their unsophisticated minds called Law and Order. "We must search the tents. We won't stir from the spot until we have had an interview with Mother Rachel," said the principal member of the police force. The men answered respectfully that the gypsy mother was not yet up; but if the gentlemen would wait a moment she would soon come and speak to them. The officers expressed their willingness to wait, and collected round the tents. Just at this instant, under the hedgerow, Tiger raised his head. Annie's watchful eyes accompanied the dog's. He was gazing after a tiny gypsy maid who was skulking along the hedge, and who presently disappeared through a very small opening into the neighboring field. Quick as thought Annie, holding Tiger's collar, darted after her. The little maid heard the footsteps; but seeing another gypsy girl, and their own dog, Tiger, she took no further notice, but ran openly and very swiftly across the field until she came to a broken wall. Here she tugged and tugged at some loose stones, managed to push one away, and then called down into the ground: "Mother Rachel!" "Come, Tiger," said Annie. She flew to a hedge not far off, and once more the dog and she hid themselves. The small girl was too excited to notice either their coming or going; she went on calling anxiously into the ground: "Mother Rachel! Mother Rachel!" Presently a black head and a pair of brawny shoulders appeared, and the tall woman whose face and figure Annie knew so well stepped up out of the ground, pushed back the stones into their place, and, taking the gypsy child into her arms, ran swiftly across the field in the direction of the tents. _ |
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