"Dickon had sent him round into the copse, a quarter of a mile off, to drive up the deer," replied the man; "but I am afraid they have caught him, for I heard a bit of a struggle in that direction, as we were making for the wall." Pharold clasped his hands in angry disappointment. "We must not leave the poor boy," he said: "I, for one, will stay at any risk, and try to help him." "And I, and I, and I!" cried all the gipsies. "Well, then," said Pharold, "we must take means to make them think that we are gone; so that the nearer we lie to them, the more completely will they be deceived. The wood on the other side of the common is thicker than anywhere else. Thither away, my men, on foot--all but five of you. Let those five take the carts down, by the back of the park, to the river. Turn them as if you were going down the road that leads along the bank. Then take out the horses, and carry the carts over the gravel to the ford, so that no wheel-marks be seen. Put the horses in again when that is done; but mind to fill up the hoof-prints with fresh gravel. Thus they will lose your track. You then take the ford, and cross the river. The water is low, and you can drive along the gravel-bank, on the other side, for near a mile, keeping in the water all the way. When it gets deep again, take the road, and, crossing back by the bridge, come round to the wood by Morley Road. Do you understand?" "Yes, yes; I do," replied the man he had called Brown. "I know the country well. But where go you, Pharold, yourself?" "I go back into the park to seek the boy," replied the gipsy, "and will join you all in the wood before daybreak. But, on your lives, keep to that wood behind us there; and go not near Morley Common or Morley Wood; for there are people on the watch there already. I should have been back in time to have prevented all this, had they not penned me in, in that very wood." "Well, well, we will do your bidding, Pharold," replied Brown. "You are a brave heart, and always take the danger upon yourself." "Quick, quick, then," replied the gipsy: "there is no time to be lost. Sarah Brown, take care of Lena; and see that that old woman," he added, sternly, pointing to Mother Gray, "works no more mischief among us. Bad has been the fruit which all the seed of her planting has hitherto borne. You lead them to the wood, Wilson, and light a fire, that I may see the smoke as I come back." So saying, he sought in one of the carts for a moment; and drawing forth what is called a cut-and-thrust sword, buckled it under his coat, took the path to the lowest part of the park wall, and, vaulting over, was lost to the sight of his companions.