Chapter XXIV: 'i Saved It Up for a Rainy Day.'

The little gipsy lass was a girl who would have been easy to lead but was rather difficult to drive. A few kind words from the man whom up till this time she had always looked upon as her father would have sufficed to make her do anything in reason for him, and do it joyfully too. When one has no heart in one's work one cannot do even one's duty in the only way it should be done--namely, as a labour of love.

'It's love and it's kindness to all around us,' Mary had often told Lotty, 'which make the wheels of life go merrily round.'

And, young though she was, Lotty could see the truth of Mary's statement in nature everywhere around her, both in the camp, in the forest, and on the sea itself.

Big, rough Bruin, with his jacket like a motor-driver's coat, could never have danced so well and heartily had he not been encouraged by kindness. The blackbird in the copse would scarce have sat so eident, so patient, and so long on her grass-lined nest had not her beautiful orange-billed mate been trilling his song to her from morn till dewy eve, and if she did not know that the flute-like music was meant for her ears and her ears only.

Ay, and those sturdy, bare-legged fisher-dames, with their creels upon their backs, would not have worked so hard had it been for themselves alone; but their Jimmies were on the sea, and their lads of husbands loved them, and so they blithely sang:

'The boatie rows, the boatie rows,
The boatie rows fu' weel;
But mickle lighter is the heart
When love bears up the creel.'

Then Lotty's own heart was overflowing with kindness for all creatures. Yes, and she even had a bit of love to spare for Biffins Lee. That she was merely a property in his eyes she knew full well; he had scolded her too, he had pinched her arms, and several times almost dashed her from him till she had stumbled and fell and burst into piteous tears; but--well, she had known him so long, and perhaps he really could not help it. He had been more cruel to her since she had shrunk from making a vulgar exhibition of herself in the _Cumberland_ wreck affair. She was going away though, and she would be sorry to vex even Biffins Lee. Happy thought: she would go and speak to him, and perhaps he would be a little more kind to her for the last few days or weeks.

Ah! perhaps she was wrong. She did not go actually into his presence as if she were seeking for an interview, she merely put herself in his way.

'Ah, Lot,' he cried gruffly, but not quite unkindly, 'you're there, are you? Rather wanted to see you. I think our merman made a bit of a hit last night'--he rattled the silver in his pocket. 'Now, if I could have you next week to pose as the mermaid'----

'What!' cried Lotty, aghast.

'It would be the best hit in the countryside. It would make a man of me--make a man of us all, so to speak. Another thing,' he continued without giving her time to reply, 'is this: I don't care any too much for that witch-wife Crona. I want you to stop going there, and I'll give Chops the same order. She is only putting nonsense and idle stuff into your head.'

'But, father, she has been such a good and kind friend to me, and I could not well go through the forest to the station or anywhere without seeing her. Besides'----

'No more, no more. I don't want to lose my temper, for I'm really a good-natured fellow.'

Again he rattled the cash in his capacious pocket.

Lotty said not another word, but went quietly back to her little caravan, to Wallace and to Mary.

'Mary,' she said, 'what do you think?'

'Couldn't guess, dear.'

'Mr Biff--my father, I mean--wants me to pose as mermaid next week, and he seems very determined. I wish he would tell me to go away and get work at some other show.'

'He won't do that, Lotty. But I'll see him for you, and let him know there will be a general strike if he attempts to make you mermaid. But it would not be for a fortnight anyhow.'

'A fortnight!' Lotty's spirits began to rise. She hoped to be far enough away before then. And now she was smiling as she said, 'Mary, couldn't you tell him that _you_ would be happy to be the mermaid?'

'_Me_ a mermaid, wearing a very low-bodiced dress, as I'm told mermaids do! _Me_ a mermaid, Lotty, with my fragile, fairy-like form, twenty stone and over. Ha, ha, ha!'

And good Mary laughed till the cups and saucers rang in the caravan cupboard.

But Lotty grew a little serious again.

'Mary,' she said, 'I am going to be debarred from ever going to see my fairy godmother any more. What shall I do?'

Mary put one fat arm round Lotty's waist and drew her nearer.

'I cannot ask you to disobey your father,' she said; 'but in this case, I myself, with Skeleton, shall waddle over to Crona's to-night, and Crona will write through me to the boss, and I think this will alter matters very much, so that you and Chops can go to the cottage as often as you have a mind to.'

'Mary, did Crona ever tell you anything in particular?'

'No, dear; but I simply think that as a witch or palmist, or something, she can read the boss's future, as perhaps she has read his past, and has a great influence over him. Lotty,' she continued, 'did Crona ever tell you anything in particular?'

'She did, Mary; but I must not mention it even to you. Some day, though, I may.'

Mary was hard on herself when she talked about her outdoor movements as mere waddling, for once she started she could walk very well indeed, and at climbing hills she could make even Skeleton puff and blow a bit. Neither Skeleton nor she had been at the witch's cottage for six months at least; but she was made heartily welcome now, and so was her bony goodman. Even Tod Lowrie allowed Mary to smooth his triangular head, and pussy ensconced herself in Mary's lap and at once began to sing. 'It isn't often,' she appeared to think, 'that I have so comfortable a lap as this to lie on, so I'll make the best of it for an hour or two.'

Joe the raven was impudently criticising towards the Living Skeleton. He was perched on his favourite birch-tree branch when the bony one appeared, and chuckled low to himself. 'Ho!' he said, 'set _him_ up! Ha, ha, ha! Well, well, well! Ho, ho, ho!'

Then, as Skeleton took no notice of his taunts, he grew even more insulting. He whistled like a 'glaud,' screamed like a curlew, and cackled like a hen that has just dropped an egg somewhere. _Kuk-kuk-kuk-kuk, kay-ay-kuk! Tee-hoy-it! Tee-hoy-it! Whew-ew-ew!_ 'Tod Lowrie, Tod Lowrie! Have a bone, poor boy, have a bone, _kuk-kuk-kuk!_ Have a bone, have a hen, a hen, a bone, a bone, bone, bone.' _Scray-ay!_

'Surely,' cried Skeleton at last, 'surely, Crona, that bird is possessed of an evil spirit?'

'It's just his exuberance,' said Crona, laughing; 'but I'll march him indoors, then we'll all have tea; for, dear me, I am pleased to see you. And, by the way, Mrs Pendlebury, here is a letter to our dear Lotty. I told Mr Blake to send it through me, you know.'

'Joe, Joe, come down here.'

'I sha'n't--I won't--won't, sha'n't, sha'n't, sha'n't, sha'n't. Ho, ho, ho!'

'Come at once when I tell you, sir!'

The bird came down obediently.

'Go directly into the house to your perch, sir.'

Joe obeyed and went waddling off with trailing wings. But just on the threshold of the door he looked up at Skeleton again, and laughed so derisively that if there had been a boot anywhere handy he would have shied it at him.

'Ha, ha, ha! Ho, ho, ho! Set _you_ up!'

'We'll have peace now,' said Crona.

Said Biffins Lee to Lotty that evening: 'From the way Mary puts it, I find that Crona isn't a bad sort after all. You may visit her, and take Chops and your dog for safety. But mind'----

'What, father?'

'The mermaid--in ten days' time.'

Lotty did not care much. There was a joy at her heart to-night. She had just received such a dear, kind letter from her Mr Blake, and had still to read it--for the fifth time.

* * * * *

Antony's caravan was going to be taken to the district station, round by the road, with farmer Duncan's three sturdy horses, his own having been shipped to England days ago. And the duty of packing it so that nothing should be broken during transit was to devolve upon Mary, with the assistance of Lotty and Chops.

Now, it is really wonderful how little a great caravan, say twenty or more feet long, is moved or shaken during a long journey by train after the wheels have been taken off, and she lies snugly on the trolley, her weight supported on her own springs. Instead of going by slow luggage-train, on which her superb varnishing, gilding, and ornamental scroll-work would have the certainty of being smoked and soiled, however well covered up, she was to travel special rate, by passenger-train, so that she would not really be on the road--so the railway traffic-manager promised--more than four-and-twenty hours, from the far north through London itself to Bristol. And here Antony Blake had resolved to meet her himself, with his splendid horses, and drive down to Manby Hall, in order that his people might see for themselves what a palace-on-wheels the 'Gipsy Queen' really was.

The caravan would be protected by sheeting, soft and white but impervious to dust and rain. This was made in different pieces, not as one clumsy whole, nor did it hang too tightly, for if it had done so it would, with its various ropes, tauten up during rain and injure the sides.

The skylight itself was not covered, so that the saloon and the bedroom both had plenty of light. Indeed, the side-sheets and roof-piece had often been put over her when doing her great winter tour in the early part of the year; and, independent of these, the fore and aft coloured glass ports of the large domed skylight could be carried open for fresh air.

Mary determined that the caravan should be quite ready for Antony to step into as soon as it arrived at its far-off destination; so she carefully fixed every vase and glass and cup in the cupboard, so that, although they could not shift, they did not appear to be fixed. The same with his books, fairy editions of a great many of his favourite authors, in a fairy-like bookcase. It was Lotty herself who dusted and arranged these, and it was indeed a labour of love, a labour to linger over, thinking sadly as she did so of the kind and handsome friend she might never see again.

But everything was ship-shape at last, and she spent all the time she could spare in the dear old saloon so fraught with many happy recollections. But one night, not long before the caravan was going to start, while sleeping in her own little cot in the 'Silver Queen,' Lotty dreamt a dream, and woke early in the morning thinking of it. She thought that she was travelling all by herself, not in an ordinary third-class carriage as she had intended, but in his--Antony's--caravan.

Lotty was a brave girl, and the romance of that dream appealed to her so much that she determined it should come true. She would only be twenty-four hours on the road, and she could let herself out when it reached London, and, locking the door again, find her way to Highgate Heath. Oh! the plan was delightful above all things, if it could only be managed; and so she confided her plans to Chops, and between their two wise heads it was determined that carried out they could and should be.

Crona was also taken into their confidence, and so was the kindly porter at the railway station far away over the moor. Chops had been sent across to purchase the little lass's ticket, and told the honest fellow. He was, like everybody else, very fond indeed of Lotty, and delighted now that she had taken him into her confidence.

'It'll be all right, won't it, George?' said Chops.

'Ay, that it will. Lo', I wouldn't mention the matter even to the wife o' my boozum.'

Chops and Lotty worked together an evening or two before the 'Gipsy Queen' started as secretly as if they had been a couple of smugglers or pirates.

There was Lotty's big box to be sent away; but that would go after her, and he, Chops, would see to it. During her journey she would only have her best clothes on, and one bag that she could carry.

But then there were provisions and stores to be thought of--milk and water and fruit, and a big box of chocolates that Chops had bought her. Not even were candles and matches nor Lotty's flashlight forgotten.

As to Wallace--who was watching the pair of them, and no doubt wondering a good deal what was up--he was to be left in the charge of Chops until happier days came round, when she should meet them both again.

Well, the caravan was to start at midnight from the station, but she was taken away to that place in the afternoon. The very last thing that Lotty did was to gather a lapful of the wild-flowers he--Antony--loved so well, and bedeck the saloon and bedroom therewith.

At long last Lotty had one more look round the camp to say good-bye to Bruin. She dared not excite suspicion by saying good-bye to any one else; but Mary noticed the poor girl had been crying, and wondered much what was the reason of her sadness.

She only said, 'Good-night, Mary. Crona wants me to stop a while with her, and I want to see her again.'

'See you to-morrow, anyhow,' said Mary.

That was all. And if Lotty had really told a little white fib, and she feared she had, she was much concerned about it. She was very silent all the way through the forest, and permitted Chops to lead her most of the way. But just as they came in sight of Crona's cottage Chops stopped.

'Miss Lotty,' he said, 'which we've been good friends, hasn't us?'

'That we have, dear old Chops.'

'Well, ye wouldn't like to see me angry, just real angry, would ye?'

'Oh no, Chops.'

Then he popped a little paper-parcel into her bag. 'I don't want that,' he said. 'I saved it up for a rainy day; and, oh Lotty, the rainy day has come!'

Well, so far as the poor lad's face was concerned, it had, for Chops was crying.