usual friendly manner, we all sat
down, partly inside the tent and partly outside, around the white
table-cloth that had been spread upon the grass. The Scollard took no
note of me; he had no eyes for any one but Rhona Boswell.

When tea was over Sinfi left the camp, and strode across the Dell
towards the river. I followed her.

II

It was not till we reached a turn in the river that is more secluded
than any other--a spot called 'Gypsy Ring,' a lovely little spot
within the hollow of birch trees and gorse--that she spoke a few
words to me, in a constrained tone. Then I said, as we sat down upon
a green hillock within the Ring: 'Sinfi, the baskets my aunt saw in
Winnie's hand when she was standing in the rain were of the very kind
that Videy makes.'

'Oh, _that's_ what you wanted to say!' said she; 'you think Videy
knows something about Winnie. But that's all a fancy o' yourn, and
it's of no use looking for Winnie any more among the Romanies. Even
supposin' you did hear the Welsh gillie--and I think it was all a
fancy--you can't make nothin' out o' them baskets as your aunt seed.
Us Romanies don't make one in a hundud of the fancy baskets as is
sold for Gypsy baskets in the streets, and besides, the hawkers and
costers what buys 'em of us sells 'em agin to other hawkers and
costers, and there ain't no tracin' on 'em.'

I argued the point with her. At last I felt convinced that I was
again on the wrong track. By this time the sun had set, and the stars
were out. I had noticed that during our talk Sinfi's attention would
sometimes seem to be distracted from the matter in hand, and I had
observed her give a little start now and then, as though listening to
something in the distance.

'What are you listening to?' I inquired at last. 'Reia,' said Sinfi,
'I've been a-listenin' to a v'ice as nobody can't hear on'y me, an'
I've bin a-seein' a face peepin' atween the leaves o' the trees as
nobody can't see on'y me; my mammy's been to me. I thought she would
come here. They say my mammy's mammy wur buried here, an' she wur the
child of Fenella, an' that's why it's called Gypsy Ring. The moment I
sat down in this Ring a mullo [spirit] come and whispered in my ear,
but I can't make out whether it's my mammy or Fenella Stanley, and I
can't make out what she said. It's hard sometimes for them as has to
gnaw their way out o' the groun' to get their words out clear.
[Footnote] Howsomever, this I do know, reia, you an' me mus