Quickly she lifted hers, and returned his salute.

He stood just a second, waved his hand again, and then plunged into
the thicket.

* * * * * * * *

When he entered the old shack that he called "home," he found his
mother stirring a steaming mass that nearly filled the huge iron kettle
that stood on the rusty stove.

His small brothers and sisters formed a half circle around her, watching
every movement that helped to prepare the dinner. They were all much
younger than Gyp, and only one, a girl, was yet of school age.

"They'll be comin' after yer ter make me let ye go ter school same's
Gyp," the woman was saying, as the boy opened the door, "but I need
ye ter home this Winter ter help me, sure's my name is Gifford."

"_Is_ yer name Gifford?" Gyp asked in surprise.

"Of course 'tis, Gyp. Why d'ye ask? Ain't ye never heard that before?"
she asked, sharply.

"Never heard us folks called anything but gypsies," he replied.

"Well, how could ye? Don't no one never come here," his mother said,
with fearful disregard of grammar.