hand, whom I recognised as Mrs. Chikno, sat near him on the ground,
whilst two or three children, from six to ten years old, who
composed the young family of Mr. and Mrs. Petulengro, were playing
about.

"Here we are, brother," said Mr. Petulengro, as he drove the sharp
end of the bar into the ground; "here we are, and plenty of us--
Bute dosta Romany chals."

"I am glad to see you all," said I; "and particularly you, madam,"
said I, making a bow to Mrs. Petulengro; "and you also, madam,"
taking off my hat to Mrs. Chikno.

"Good-day to you, sir," said Mrs. Petulengro; "you look, as usual,
charmingly, and speak so, too; you have not forgot your manners."

"It is not all gold that glitters," said Mrs. Chikno. "However,
good-morrow to you, young rye."

"I do not see Tawno," said I, looking around; "where is he?"

"Where, indeed!" said Mrs. Chikno; "I don't know; he who
countenances him in the roving line can best answer."

"He will be here anon," said Mr. Petulengro; "he has merely ridden
down a by-road to show a farmer a two-year-old colt; she heard me
give him directions, but she can't be satisfied."

"I can't indeed," said Mrs. Chikno.