cave-woman. There is something magnificent about this brutal freedom."

"Very sordid magnificence," replied Lambert, raising his shoulders. "But
I understand your feelings. On occasions we all have the nostalgia of
the primitive life at times, and delight to pass from ease to hardship."

"Well, civilization isn't much catch, so far as I can see," argued his
companion. "It makes men weaklings."

"Certainly not women," he answered, glancing sideways at her Amazonian
figure.

"I agree with you. For some reason, men are going down while women are
going up, both physically and mentally. I wonder what the future of
civilized races will be."

"Here is Mother Cockleshell. Best ask her."

The trio had reached a small tent at the very end of the camp by this
time, snugly set up under a spreading oak and near the banks of a
babbling brook. Their progress had not been interrupted by any claims on
their attention or purses, for a wink from Chaldea had informed her
brother and sister gypsies that the Gentile lady had come to consult the
queen of the tribe. And, like Lord Burleigh's celebrated nod, Chaldea's
wink could convey volumes. At all events, Lambert and his companion were
unmolested, and arrived in due course before the royal palace. A
croaking voice announced that the queen was inside her Arab tent, and
she was crooning some Romany song. Chaldea did not open her mouth, but
simply snapped her fingers twice or thrice rapidly. The woman within
must have had marvellously sharp ears, for she immediately stopped her