"I am Ralph Durrant. I live at a school near. There are lots of girls in the school, and I've got a school-mother. My school-mother is at the fair, and I am alone here. I'm rather lonesome, and I'm so glad you have come, gipsy man, 'cause you can talk to me." "To be sure," said the man, seating himself on a low stile, and taking from his pocket a very large clasp knife, with which he proceeded to sharpen a stick. Ralph stood very near him without speaking, just glad to be close to him. From time to time the man looked at the child, and the child returned the man's gaze. "Where did yer say yer held out, youngster?" he remarked after a long pause. "At a school with a lot of girls," said Ralph. "Father sent me; it's all right. How funny and sharp you make that stick, gipsy man!" "I guess you mean you live at Abbeyfield?" said the man, now shutting up his knife and returning it to his pocket. "They be rich folks there, so I guess you must be rich. We gipsies is poor; our folks haven't got any money." "Nor have I," said Ralph eagerly. "I haven't any money at all; if I had I 'spec' I'd have been took to the fair. See, gipsy man, see, my pockets is quite empty." He turned out both his little pockets as he spoke, and looked at the man for sympathy. "Dear, dear, dear!" said the man. "That is 'ard, now. But your folks is rich, bean't they?" "Father's made of money; I've heard folks say so." "Well, now; that is nice for you; and he's fond of a little chap like you, ain't he?" "Father?" said Ralph. He paused for a minute; then said with great force: "Yes, Father's fond of me." The man looked to right of him and to left of him. There was no one in sight. There was only very pretty little Ralph, in his pretty and expensive dress. There was a wood behind them, a wood to right of them, and a wood to left of them, and the doctor's little, old-fashioned house at the further end of the field; the house was to all appearance empty for the time being. The gipsy man drew Ralph close and took his hand. Ralph felt that brown hand of the gipsy man's as hard as iron. His little heart gave a sort of jump; but he was not going to be at all frightened. He was glad, he was very glad, he had seen a brown, brown gipsy man for himself; he had spoken to him; whatever Harriet might or might not do in the future, _he_ had seen a gipsy man himself. "I must be saying good-night, now," he remarked in a very polite voice. "I am so glad I has met you. Please, good-night, Mr Gipsy Man. I am going back. I must wait in a horrid, ugly drawing-room for my school-mother: I must say good-night, Mr Gipsy." "Not so fast, master," said the man. "How do you know that I wants to say good-night to you? I've took a sort of a fancy to yer, little master." "Have you?" said Ralph, looking up at him. "Yes--'tain't every little master as says such pretty words to us brown folks." "Oh, I love you all," said Ralph.