'It must be Joe,' said Crona. 'Poor Joe, he has been away in the woods all the evening, and must be damp and cauld!' Lotty hastened to admit a splendid specimen of the raven--or he would have been splendid had not his wings and thigh-feathers been so draggled with dew. He advanced along the floor with a noisy flutter. 'Joe's cold, and Joe's cross,' croaked the bird, giving one impudent glance upwards at Antony, as much as to say, 'Who on earth are you next?' He was evidently in a temper. 'Joe's cold, and Joe's cross--cross--cross!' he shrieked. Then he vented his passion on the hind-foot of the poor fox, which was thrust well out from his body. Reynard quietly drew in that leg and showed his teeth in an angry snarl. But the raven only held his head back, and laughed an eldritch laugh that rang through the rafters. His next move was to dislodge the cat and take her place on the top of Tod Lowrie, as the red fox was called. Joe felt warm there, so he fluffed out his feathers and went quietly to sleep. When presently 'a wee tim'rous beastie' in the shape of a black mouse, with wondering dark eyes nearly as large as boot-buttons, crept from a corner and sat quietly down with its front to the fire and commenced to wash its little mite of a face, Frank Antony thought he must be dreaming. The cat took no notice of Tim (the mouse), and when Lotty bent down and stroked tiny Tim with the nail of her little finger he really seemed to enjoy it. Antony was prepared for anything that might happen after this. When they were out again in the open moonlight, Antony said, 'Do you often go to Crona's cottage, Lotty?' 'Oh yes, when I can spare time. Crona is a granny to me, and I love her and Tim and Joe, Pussy, Tod Lowrie, and all.' 'A very happy little natural family.' They were high on a hill by this time, and far beneath them, near the sea, its long lines of breakers silvered by the moonbeams, white canvas tents could be seen, and many moving lights. 'That is our pitch,' said Lotty. 'The big caravan is yours, sir; the little one not very far off is mine. That long, black, wooden building in the centre is the theatre and barracks.' 'How droll to have a theatre and barracks in a gipsy camp! I think I've come to a strange country, Lotty.' 'Oh, you won't be sorry, I'm sure. Father can't thrash you, and Wallace and myself will look well after you.' 'Thank you, Lotty.' 'I wonder who on earth Wallace is?' he thought. He did not have long to wonder. 'I'm going to signal for Wallace,' said Lotty. She stood on the very edge of a rocky precipice that went sheer down to the green sea-links below, full three hundred feet and over. Close by was the mark of a former fire. 'I always signal from here,' she said, 'and Wallace always comes. He is never happy when I am far away, and keeps watching for me.'