hat_ made her very fond o'
_all_ Romanies; and though she took agin me at fust, arter the cuss,
as she took agin you because we was her closest friends (that's what
Mr. Blyth said, you know, they allus do), she wouldn't take agin
Romanies in general. No, she'd take to Romanies in general, and she'd
go hangin' about the different camps, and she'd soon be snapped up,
being so comely, and they'd make a lot o' money out on her jist
havin' her with 'em for the "dukkerin'."'

'I don't understand you,' I said.

'Well, you know,' said Sinfi, 'anybody as is under the cuss is half
with the sperrits and half with us, and so can tell the _real_
"dukkerin'." Only it's bad for a Romany to have another Romany in the
"place" as is under the cuss; but it don't matter a bit about having
a Gorgio among your breed as is under a cuss; for Gorgio cuss can't
never touch Romany.'

'Then you feel quite sure she's not dead, Sinfi?'

'She's jist as live as you an' me somewheres, brother. There's two
things as keeps _her_ alive: there's the cuss, as says she's got to
beg her bread, and there's the dukkeripen o' the Golden Hand on
Snowdon, as says she's got to marry you.'

'But, Sinfi, I mean that, apart from all this superstition of yours,
you have reason to think she's alive? and you think she's with the
Romanies?'

'I know she's alive, and I think she's with the Romanies. She _must_
be, brother, with the Shaws, or the Lees, or the Stanleys, or the
Boswells, or some on 'em.'

'Then,' said I, 'I'll turn Gypsy; I'll be the second Aylwin to own
allegiance to the blood of Fenella Stanley. I'll scour Great Britain
till I find her.'

'You can jine _us_ if you like, brother. We're goin' all through the
West of England with the gries. You're fond o' fishin' an' shootin',
brother, an' though you're a Gorgio, you can't help bein' a Gorgio,
and you ain't a mumply 'un, as I've said to Jim Burton many's the
time; and if you can't give the left-hand body-blow like me, there
ain't a-many Gorgios nor yit a-many Romanies as knows better nor you
what their fistes wur made for, an' altogether, brother, Beng te
tassa mandi if I shouldn't be right-on proud to see ye jine our
breed. There's a coachmaker down in Chester, and he's got for sale
the beautifullest livin'-waggin in all England. It's shiny
orange-yellow with red window-blinds, an' if there's a colour in any
rainbow as _can't_ be seed in the panels o' the front door, it's a
kind o' rainbow I ain't