“Well,” said his host, when the youth had finished his brief toilet, “suppose we breathe the fresh air, while Lucy smooths your bed and prepares the breakfast?” “With all my heart,” replied the youth, and they descended the steps which led into the wood. It was a beautiful, fresh morning; the air was like a draught from a Spirit’s fountain, and filled the heart with new youth and the blood with a rapturous delight; the leaves--the green, green leaves of spring--were quivering on the trees, among which the happy birds fluttered and breathed the gladness of their souls in song. While the dewdrops that-- “strewed A baptism o’er the flowers”-- gave back in their million mirrors the reflected smiles of the cloudless and rejoicing sun. “Nature,” said the gypsy, “has bestowed on her children a gorgeous present in such a morning.” “True,” said the youth; “and you, of us two, perhaps only deserve it; as for me, when I think of the long road of dust, heat, and toil, that lies before me, I could almost wish to stop here and ask an admission into the gypsy’s tents.” “You could not do a wiser thing!” said the gypsy, gravely. “But fate leaves me no choice,” continued the youth, as seriously as if he were in earnest; “and I must quit you immediately after I have a second time tasted of your hospitable fare.” “If it must be so,” answered the gypsy, “I will see you, at least, a mile or two on your road.” The youth thanked him for a promise which his curiosity made acceptable, and they turned once more to the caravan. The meal, however obtained, met with as much honour as it could possibly have received from the farmer from whom its materials were borrowed. It was not without complacency that the worthy pair beheld the notice their guest lavished upon a fair, curly-headed boy of about three years old, the sole child and idol of the gypsy potentates. But they did not perceive, when the youth rose to depart, that he slipped into the folds of the child’s dress a ring of some value, the only one he possessed. “And now,” said he, after having thanked his entertainers for their hospitality, “I must say good-by to your flock, and set out upon my day’s journey.” Lucy, despite her bashfulness, shook hands with her handsome guest; and the latter, accompanied by the gypsy chief, strolled down to the encampments. Open and free was his parting farewell to the inmates of the two tents, and liberal was the hand which showered upon all--especially on the damsel who had been his Thais of the evening feast--the silver coins which made no inconsiderable portion of his present property. It was amidst the oracular wishes and favourable predictions of the whole crew that he recommenced his journey with the gypsy chief. When the tents were fairly out of sight, and not till then, King Cole broke the silence which had as yet subsisted between them.