"I feel like primeval man to-day," said Aveline. "The wander fever is on me, and I want to see fresh things." "We shall be in Ledcombe soon." "I don't mean towns; it's something much subtler--different fields, unexplored woods, a new piece of river, or even a patch of grass with flowers I haven't found before." "I know," agreed Raymonde. "It's the feeling one had when one was small, and read about how the youngest prince set out into the great wide world to seek his fortune. I always envied him." "Or the knights-errant--they had a splendid time roaming through the forest, and tilting a spear against anyone who was ready for single combat. One might lead a very merry life yet, like Robin Hood and his band, in the 'good greenwood', though we shouldn't be 'hunting the King's red deer'." "It was pretty much like camp life, I dare say, only a little rougher than ours. More like the gipsy diggings." "Talking of gipsies, I believe you've conjured them up. That looks like a caravan over there. I expect it is some more of the tribe coming to pick strawberries." The gipsies, collected in a group in the roadway, were loudly bewailing a catastrophe, for their horse had just fallen down dead. Until they could obtain another they must needs stay by the roadside, and could not get on to the gardens. "They're a handsome set," said Aveline, taking out her camera, which she had brought with her. "Just look at the children!" "It's the mother that attracts me most," said Raymonde. The woman, indeed, was a beautiful specimen of Romany blood, tall and dark, with great flashing eyes and coarse black hair. She resembled a man more than the gentler sex. She wore a very short red skirt, and had a little barrel hung over her shoulder by a strap. "I wish I'd brought my camera!" murmured Raymonde. "I simply hadn't room to stuff it in. It was a choice between it and my night-gear, and I thought Gibbie'd treat me to jaw-wag if I left out my pyjamas." Aveline descended from the trap to take her photo, hoping to get a snapshot of the gipsies, just as they were, grouped in dramatic attitudes round the dead horse. At the sight of two well-dressed strangers, however, the tribal instincts asserted themselves, and the woman was pushed hurriedly forward by the rest. "Tell your fortune, my pretty lady!" she began to Aveline in a half-bold, half-wheedling voice. "Cross the poor gipsy's hand with a shilling and she'll read the stars for you!" "No, thanks!" said Aveline, rather scared by the woman's jaunty, impudent manner. "I only wanted to take a photo." "Cross the gipsy's hand first, lady, before you take her photo. Don't you want to know the future, lady? I can read something in your face that will surprise you. Just a shilling, lady--only a shilling!"