Such a speech, akin to blank verse, was doubtless inspired by Borrovian periods; but who ever heard a gipsy soliloquize thus, or saw one peruse the chronicle of that modern Ulysses? Dan asserted that he was no gentleman, yet in looks, in words, breeding would out, and Mother Jericho was as clever as the rest of her sex in detecting a palpable fraud. Yet what did this _soi-disant_ vagrant in the pinewood dell reading "Lavengro" by a camp-fire? Ah, that is a long story, and cannot be told at present. Simon cropped, Peter snored, and Dan was immersed in the account of that Homeric fight between Lavengro and the Flaming Tinman. So profoundly was he interested, that he heard not the approach of stealthy footsteps. But Peter was on the alert, and sprang into the darkness with angry yelp. Roused by the signal of danger, Dan arose to his feet and stood on the defensive, for one meets with adventures in England as in Timbuctoo. "Who is there?" he demanded, striding to the edge of the circle cast by the firelight. "He! he! my dearie, call off the dog. May he burn, spark of the evil one!" "Mother Jericho! Here, Peter!" "Yes, it is I, dearie. Bless you, rye, I knew you'd camp here." The scarlet cloak emerged into the firelight, and Dan beheld his gipsy friend uglier than ever in the flickering light. She shook her stick at Peter, who responded with furious tongue; whereat Dan caught him up in his arms and choked him into silence. Mother Jericho, interpreting this as a sign of welcome, hobbled near the fire and seated herself in a comfortable corner. In no wise resentful of her company--for even with "Lavengro" he found the dell a trifle lonely--Dan threw himself down in his old place and waited to hear what his visitor had to say. Evidently determined to act as a good comrade, Mother Jericho produced a dirty pipe and clawed the air in the direction of Dan's tobacco-pouch. He tossed it towards her, and, while she filled pipe and pocket, produced from the caravan a bottle of whisky. Filling a glass with this desirable drink, he looked interrogatively at the old woman. "Hot or cold water?" said he, deeming the undiluted spirit too strong for so aged a person. "Neat, dearie, neat! It's good for me in that way. I git on'y too much water on rainy nights." Having finished the whisky (a speedily performed operation) she lighted her pipe, and, puffing vigorously, leered at her host out of the smoke like an ugly cherub. He thought of Lavengro's companion in the same situation, and groaned. "What a substitute for Isopel!" he muttered disgustedly. "Hey!" croaked Mother Jericho, arching a skinny hand behind her ear. "Speak up, rye; I'm deaf." "What are you doing so late in this wood?" said Dan, not choosing to repeat his remark, which, indeed, would have been Greek to the old hag. "Where are your people?" "Near at hand, my dearie, near at hand. I came to see you here afore going to bed."