e manner,
when he could have chored and cheated like a true-hearted black one?"

Her allusions to money suddenly enlightened the young man. "Yours is the
name mentioned in the sealed letter held by Jarwin?" he cried, with
genuine amazement written largely on his face. "You inherit the
millions?"

Mother Cockleshell wiped her eyes with a corner of her shawl and
chuckled complacently. "It is so, young man, therefore can I take those
who hold to my wisdom to the great land beyond the water. Ah, I am rich
now, sir, and as a Gorgious one could I live beneath a roof-tree. But
for why, I asks you, my golden rye, when I was bred to the open and the
sky? In a tent I was born; in a tent I shall die. Should I go, Gentile,
it's longing for the free life I'd be, since Romany I am and ever shall
be. As we says in our tongue, my dear, 'It's allers the boro matcho that
pet-a-lay 'dree the panni,' though true gypsy lingo you can't call it
for sure."

"What does it mean?" demanded Lambert, staring at the dingy possessor of
two millions sterling.

"It's allers the largest fish that falls back into the water,"
translated Mrs. Stanley. "I told that to Leland, the boro rye, and he
goes and puts the same into a book for your readings, my dearie!" then
she uttered a howl and flung up her arms. "But what matter I am rich,
when my child's child's blood calls out for vengeance. I'd give all the
red gold--and red money it is, my loved one," she added, fixing a bright
pair of eyes on Lambert, "if I could find him as shot the darling of my
heart."

Knowing that he could trust her, and pitying her obvious sorrow, Lambert
had no hesitation in revealing the truth so far as he knew it. "It
wasn't a him who shot your grandson, but a her."

"Hai!" Gentilla flung up her arms again, "then I was right. My old eyes
did see like a cat in the dark, though brightly shone the moon when he
fell."

"What? You know?" Lambert started back again at this second surprise.

"If it's a Gentile lady, I know. A red one large as a cow in the
meadows, and fierce as an unbroken colt."

"Miss Greeby!"

"Greeby! Greeby! So your romi told me," shrieked the old woman, throwing
up her hands in ecstasy. "Says I to her, 'Who's the foxy one?' and says
she, smiling like, 'Greeby's her name!'"

"Why did you ask my wife that?" demanded Lambert, much astonished.

"Hai, she was no wife of yours then, sir. Why did I ask her? Because I
saw the shooting--"

"Of Pine--of Hear