ying, and that set him wondering whether it would be possible to
contrive something which might easily be tested.

"I could go up on to the leads of the tower, step off and float down
into the churchyard."

Vane suddenly burst out laughing.

"Why, if I had said that yonder," he thought, "old Macey would tell me
that it would be just in the right place, for I should be sure to break
my neck."

Then he began thinking about Bruff the gardener, for he passed his
cottage; and about his coming to work the next day after being ill, and
never saying another word about the chanterelles.

Directly after his thoughts turned in another direction, for he came
upon the two gipsy lads, seated under the hedge, with their legs in the
ditch, proof positive that the people of their tribe were somewhere not
very far away.

The lads stared at him very hard, and Vane stared back at them, thinking
what a curious life it seemed--for two big strong boys to be always
hanging about, doing nothing but drive a few miserable worn-out horses
from fair to fair.

Just as he was abreast of the lads, one whispered something to the
other, but what it was Vane could not understand, for it sounded mere
gibberish.

Then the other replied, without moving his head, and Vane passed on.

"I don't believe it's a regular language they talk," he said to himself.
"Only a lot of slang words they've made up. What do they call it?
Rum--Rum--Romany, that is it. Well, it doesn't sound Roman-like to me."

About a hundred yards on he looked back, to see that the two gipsy lads
were in eager converse, and one was gesticulating so fiercely, that it
looked like quarrelling.

But Vane had something else to think about, and he went on, holding the
tools inside his pockets, to keep them from clicking together as he
turned up toward the rectory, just catching sight of the gipsy lads
again, now out in the road and slouching along toward the town.

"Wonder whether Mr Symes is at home again," thought Vane, but he did
not expect that he would be, as it was his hour for being from the
rectory, perhaps having a drive, so that he felt pretty easy about him.
But he kept a sharp look-out for Gilmore and the others.

"Hardly likely for them to be in," he thought; and then he felt annoyed
with himself because his visit seemed furtive and deceptive.

As a rule, he walked up to the front of the house, feeling quite at
home, and as if he were one of its inmates, whereas now