e wood for some time," said
Lizzie. "I should like to see a gipsy encampment so much."

"And so should I," said Carry. "Nurse is always so frightened for the
gipsies, she won't allow us ever to go near them. But, perhaps, when we
take the donkey back they will be civil, and not steal our clothes from
us."

"Does nurse say they will do that?" said Charlie. "Oh, what a shame! I
wouldn't believe it. They were so polite to me; and one old woman insisted
upon telling me my fortune, and when I offered her a sixpence she wouldn't
have it."

"And I suppose she told you some rubbish," said Herbert; "sent you riding
off in a coach-and-four with your pockets full of money and your barrels
full of beer?"

"I beg your pardon, sir," said Charlie, "she wasn't half so kind. She said
I would grow up to be more than six feet high; that I would be a soldier
or a sailor, which I don't intend to be; and that, after a great many
difficulties, I would succeed in the world, and mumbled something about a
clear opening and a straight uprising."

"That's because you didn't give her any money," said Herbert, laughing.

"Well, when they come back we'll have her to tell us ours," said Lizzie,
"and see if the coach-and-four is to fall to our lot."

"But I don't think mamma would like us to have our fortunes told. I know
she was very much displeased with one of the servants allowing the gipsy
woman to tell her hers. If we want to see the encampment, we had better
not have anything to do with the fortune-teller. Mamma says it is not only
silly but wicked to inquire into futurity."

In about a week the gipsies returned; and the donkey being much better, he
was taken over and restored to his rightful owners. He was so much
improved with his rest and good treatment that they hardly knew him, and
the whole of the gipsy children belonging to the encampment gathered round
to see their old friend and companion. When the children from the Hall
left, after inspecting the queer tents and everything else, they turned
to look once more at the donkey and wave a good-bye to the gipsy man; and,
as Carry said, poor Punch--that was the name of the donkey--was looking
wistfully after them, and if the man hadn't held him firm, he seemed
almost inclined to run after them. "Poor beast," as Charlie said, "after
all his hard years of labour it was no wonder if he wanted a rest now."

[Illustration: PUNCH AND HIS OWNERS.]

The morning after Lizzie and Charles left,