Читать книгу I've been a Gipsying. Rambles among our Gipsies and their children in their tents and vans онлайн

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An old gipsy woman appeared upon the scene with two little ragged gipsy children at her heels and a long stick in her hand, reminding me of the “shepherd’s crook.” On her feet were two odd, old, and worn-out navvy’s boots stuffed with rags, pieces of which were trailing after her heels. Her dress—if it could be called dress—was short, and almost hung in shreds; crooked and disgustingly filthy, she strutted about telling fortunes. I said to the old hypocrite, “How old are you? you must be getting a good round age.” With a quivering lip, trembling voice, and a tottering limb and stick she replied, “If it please the Lord, I shall be seventy-five soon.” “Which tribe of the gipsies do you belong to?” “I belong to the Drapers.” She now altered the tone of her voice to that of earnestness and said, “My good gentleman, I hope you have got a penny for me; I’ve had nothing to eat to-day.” Her voice began to quaver again, and, looking up towards the bright blue sky, “Now, my dear good gentleman, please do give me a penny, and the Lord will bless you. I’ve had a large family—nineteen children, and only three are dead.” I said, “What will you charge me for telling me my fortune?” She seemed a different woman in a minute, and replied in sharp tones, “You know it better than I can tell you.” The old gipsy woman fancied that she “smelt a rat,” and she turned away, with some hellish language to the little gipsies, and was lost among the crowd of holiday-makers passing backwards and forwards, drinking, swearing, gambling, fighting, racing, frolicsome, funny, and thoughtful. The curtain was now drawn, and I left her to pursue her satanic work among the simple, gay, and serious.