Dan put a corner of his coat over the shivering Peter who was curled up beside him, and wondered how the old creature could exist amid such wretched surroundings. For the moment he forgot that ardent love of liberty which is the strongest characteristic of the gipsies, and which to them is ample compensation for the miseries which they endure in their wandering existence. In Mother Jericho he saw no romantic queen of a wild race, but merely a frail old woman who should be bestowed in an almshouse, where she could be looked after and protected from want and cold. Such comfort would have been more unpalatable to her than leaky tent and smoky fire. "Wouldn't you like to have a good house and a little money?" he said persuasively, revolving philanthropic schemes for the bettering of her misery. "Young man, I have money," replied Mother Jericho, with great dignity. "I could buy a caravan if I chose, but the tent's good enough for me. I was born in one, dearie, I've lived all my life in one, and I'll die in a tent." "But you would be more comfortable in a house." "No, dearie, no! It 'ud kill me." "But this," said Dan, rubbing his eyes, which smarted with the pungent smoke--"this is worse. You can't live here. It will kill you." "I've lived like this for eighty years, child, and it's not at my time of life that folks change. You are a Gorgio gentleman, and like to live in a fine house; I am a Romany, and the tent is my home." "Are you happy?" "Quite happy, dearie--quite happy, though I don't deny as my pipe wants filling." Willing to alleviate her discomfort in some small degree, Dan gave her a fill of tobacco, and she was soon adding more smoke to the already foggy atmosphere. When she spoke her voice sounded as from a cloud, for Dan could not even catch a glimpse of her face, so thickly rolled the blinding smoke between them. "That's better, dearie--much better," piped the voice from the cloud. "Wha-a! there ain't nothing like terbaccer for comfort--unless," added she artfully, "it's summat to warm the inside." Interpreting this hint in its right sense, Dan passed along his flask, and heard her smacking her withered lips over the whisky. He wished to soften her heart before asking questions; and having, as he thought, done so by these gifts, proceeded to business. Dan was not without diplomacy, but it proved worthless in this instance. "I thought Tim would be back to-night," said he, replacing the flask in his pocket. "Did ye, now?" whined Mother Jericho, crossly. "Well, he ain't. He's with the Hernes for a day, dearie. When he comes back I'll tell him ye asked for him." "When will he come back?" "To-morrow, or the next day, young man. Why d'ye want to see him?" "Just for companionship. It's lonely up at the dell." A grunt proceeding from the smoke showed that Mother Jericho did not put much faith in this assertion. After poking the fire, she spoke again. "Company ye want, child! Haven't ye better company nor the poor gipsies?"