you. Will you promise to keep quiet?"

Bessie realized that there was no telling what this man would do if she
did not promise--and keep her promise. He was cleverer than Peter, and,
therefore, much more dangerous. She felt, somehow, that the trick which
had worked so well when Dolly had used it before would be of no avail
now. He might even understand it; he was most unlikely, she was sure, to
yield to superstitious terror as Peter and Lolla had done. And, leaning
over to Dolly, she whispered to her.

"Don't try that trick, Dolly. You see, if the others had dared the voice
to do something they would have found out that there was really nothing
to be afraid of--and I'm afraid he'd wait. It may be useful again, but
not with him, now. If we tried it, and it didn't work--"

"I understand," Dolly whispered back. "I think you are right, too,
Bessie. We'd be worse off than ever. I was thinking that if only some of
the other gypsies were here we might frighten them so much with it that
they'd make him let us go."

"Yes. We'll save it for that."

The gypsy was still breathing hard. He looked at the two girls
malignantly, but he saw that they were too tired to walk much unless he
let them rest, and, purely out of policy, and not at all because he was
sorry for them, and for the hardships he had made them endure, he let
them sit still for a while. But finally he rose.

"Come," he said. "You've been loafing here long enough. Get up now, and
walk in front of me--back, the way you came."