morning and evening. One of our little ‘uns fell over in the road. She came by on her bike and looked after the child. Did a good job and brought her back to us. She had a little chat with me.”
“That was Annie Logan. Yes, she comes in to help Mrs. Marline.”
“A bit of a tartar, that lady, eh?”
“Yes … I suppose so.”
“All right with you, is she?”
“She doesn’t notice me much. She never did. 1 think she doesn’t like to be reminded I’m there.”
“Well, that’s not such a bad thing, eh?” She nudged me and laughed. 1 laughed with her.
“As long as they treat you right.”
Jake slipped away and left us, and she went on to ask questions about the house and its inhabitants. I found myself telling her about Mrs. Marline’s rooms on the ground floor, the wheelchair, the bells that rang all the time, and how the servants grumbled and said there was no pleasing her.
Then I heard someone singing. It was a beautiful clear voice with a lilt in it.
“Three gipsies stood at the castle gate They sang so high, they sang so low, The lady sate in her chamber late Her heart it melted away like snow.”
I had stopped talking to listen.
“That’s Zingara,” said Rosie, and at that moment the door of the caravan opened and the most beautiful woman I had ever seen came in.
Creole earrings dangled from her ears and her thick, shining black hair was piled high on her head; her dark eyes sparkled and Rosie looked at her with great pride.
“Zingara!” she cried.
“Who else!” said the woman. Then she smiled at me and said: “This is ?”
“Little Carmel March, who comes from Commonwood House.”
“I know about you,” said Zingara, looking at me as though she was very pleased to see me.
“And how you came to visit the raggle-taggle gipsies.”
I did not know what to say, so 1 gave a little giggle. She came close to me and put her hands on my shoulders, studying me intently and giving me the impression that she liked me very much. Then she put a hand under my chin and turned my face up to hers.
“Little Carmel March,” she said slowly.
“I’d like to talk to you.”
“Sit beside her, then,” said Rosie.
“I tell you what. I’ll make you some herb tea. Then you two can have a little chat.”
She rose and went to the back of the caravan where there was a small alcove. I was more or less alone with Zingara. She kept looking at me;
she touched my cheek lightly with her finger.
“Tell me,” she said earnestly.
“Are they kind to you at that house?”
“Well, yes … I think so. The doctor always smiles, and Mrs. Marline doesn’t notice me, and Miss Carson is very nice.”
She wanted to hear about Miss Carson and listened intently while I talked. I thought it was very kind of her to seem to care so much. I repeated what I had told Rosie a short time before.
“You’re being educated, and there’s a great deal to be said for education,” said Zingara.
“I wouldn’t mind a bit more of it myself.
Still, I get along. “
“Do you live here with the gipsies?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“No, this is a visit. I was brought up with them.
I used to run about like those little boys and girls you saw down there. I’d sing and dance a lot. 1 couldn’t stop myself, and then, one day, one of those gentlemen who write books was going to write one about gipsies and he came and stayed with us in the camp. He heard me sing and saw me dance and he said I ought to do something about it. He was the one who did it. 1 was sent away to a school where they trained people for the stage-and that’s what I did. I sing and dance and travel round the country. Zingara, the singing gipsy dancer. “
“But you’ve come back.”
“Now and then I do. 1 can’t tear myself away, you see.
It’s all in the song about the raggle-taggle gipsies. Oh, you can never forget where you belong. “
“But you like being Zingara the dancing, singing gipsy.”
“Yes, I like it. But
“That was Annie Logan. Yes, she comes in to help Mrs. Marline.”
“A bit of a tartar, that lady, eh?”
“Yes … I suppose so.”
“All right with you, is she?”
“She doesn’t notice me much. She never did. 1 think she doesn’t like to be reminded I’m there.”
“Well, that’s not such a bad thing, eh?” She nudged me and laughed. 1 laughed with her.
“As long as they treat you right.”
Jake slipped away and left us, and she went on to ask questions about the house and its inhabitants. I found myself telling her about Mrs. Marline’s rooms on the ground floor, the wheelchair, the bells that rang all the time, and how the servants grumbled and said there was no pleasing her.
Then I heard someone singing. It was a beautiful clear voice with a lilt in it.
“Three gipsies stood at the castle gate They sang so high, they sang so low, The lady sate in her chamber late Her heart it melted away like snow.”
I had stopped talking to listen.
“That’s Zingara,” said Rosie, and at that moment the door of the caravan opened and the most beautiful woman I had ever seen came in.
Creole earrings dangled from her ears and her thick, shining black hair was piled high on her head; her dark eyes sparkled and Rosie looked at her with great pride.
“Zingara!” she cried.
“Who else!” said the woman. Then she smiled at me and said: “This is ?”
“Little Carmel March, who comes from Commonwood House.”
“I know about you,” said Zingara, looking at me as though she was very pleased to see me.
“And how you came to visit the raggle-taggle gipsies.”
I did not know what to say, so 1 gave a little giggle. She came close to me and put her hands on my shoulders, studying me intently and giving me the impression that she liked me very much. Then she put a hand under my chin and turned my face up to hers.
“Little Carmel March,” she said slowly.
“I’d like to talk to you.”
“Sit beside her, then,” said Rosie.
“I tell you what. I’ll make you some herb tea. Then you two can have a little chat.”
She rose and went to the back of the caravan where there was a small alcove. I was more or less alone with Zingara. She kept looking at me;
she touched my cheek lightly with her finger.
“Tell me,” she said earnestly.
“Are they kind to you at that house?”
“Well, yes … I think so. The doctor always smiles, and Mrs. Marline doesn’t notice me, and Miss Carson is very nice.”
She wanted to hear about Miss Carson and listened intently while I talked. I thought it was very kind of her to seem to care so much. I repeated what I had told Rosie a short time before.
“You’re being educated, and there’s a great deal to be said for education,” said Zingara.
“I wouldn’t mind a bit more of it myself.
Still, I get along. “
“Do you live here with the gipsies?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“No, this is a visit. I was brought up with them.
I used to run about like those little boys and girls you saw down there. I’d sing and dance a lot. 1 couldn’t stop myself, and then, one day, one of those gentlemen who write books was going to write one about gipsies and he came and stayed with us in the camp. He heard me sing and saw me dance and he said I ought to do something about it. He was the one who did it. 1 was sent away to a school where they trained people for the stage-and that’s what I did. I sing and dance and travel round the country. Zingara, the singing gipsy dancer. “
“But you’ve come back.”
“Now and then I do. 1 can’t tear myself away, you see.
It’s all in the song about the raggle-taggle gipsies. Oh, you can never forget where you belong. “
“But you like being Zingara the dancing, singing gipsy.”
“Yes, I like it. But
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