“It strikes me that I have seen her Majesty in the neighbourhood of Everton for some time past?” “Well, you see, we have been camped there, but we come from Epping Forest. The Queen visited us when we were in Dunbar, Scotland. And if we weren’t real gipsies Her Majesty would not have come to see us.” The King at this juncture said he should be exceedingly obliged if I would put in the papers the fact that their habitation was scrupulously neat and clean, and that the sanitary arrangements were of an unexceptional character—which I told him I should have much pleasure in doing. “There is another thing which you might mention too,” he added in a whisper. “We don’t herd together, higgledy-piggledy, like some wanderers. My wife and I pass the night in that end of the tent, and at the opposite end, which is curtained off, my boys sleep. And as for the girls, they occupy the caravan.” His Majesty then conducted me to the caravan outside, and showed me a veritable boudoir for comfort and elegance. He was careful to point out every detail of the well-appointed vehicle, and to exhibit the gee-gaws and showy dresses which the ladies wore on gala days. “Look here, sir, some people think that we gipsies are a little loose in our morals. But I can tell you it’s nothing of the sort. We are very particular people. Our daughters’ virtue is very dear to us, and rather than see them injured we would sooner see them die.” And by the powerfully self-restrained manner of Mr. Smith, I could see that he meant what he said. In reply to the question as to whether he really preferred gipsying to the ordinary mode of life, he said, “It’s our regular way of living, and if you gave me the grandest house, I would not give up my camp for it.” And the Queen chimed in, “Our ancestors always lived in tents, and so shall we. I am happier as I am than if I was in a palace. Indeed, I would not live in one, and no more would my daughters.” Observing an ancient-looking parrot in a gaudy cage, I ventured to ask if it belonged to the family. “Bless your life,” replied the Queen, “we have had that ’ere bird for more than fifteen years. It knows our ways, and can talk Romany. But it only speaks when the spirit moves it.” Just at that moment Poll was in one of her most taciturn moods, and could not be induced to open her beak, but no doubt, like the traditional bird of that ilk, she thought the more. “Have you any history of your tribe or biographical records of yourself?” I inquired; to which his Majesty pathetically answered: “Unfortunately I have not. Ah, if I had only got one-half the accounts that the Scotch reporters put in about us, they would be worth any money to me just now. However, I have given some particulars to a gentleman who is going to put it in a little book for me.” “Are you permitted to do any trafficking here?” “Well, yes, a little. Mr. Bapty allows us to sell a few fancy baskets, if we like.”