Romano Lavo-Lil Part 42

"No," said the speaker, kicking up his heels.

"Where is she gone to?"

"She's gone to Cauldstrame."

"How far is that?"

"Just thirteen miles."

"Will she be at home to-day?"

"She may, or she may not."

"Are you of her people?" said I.

"No-h," said the fellow, slowly drawing out the word.

"Can you speak Irish?"

"No-h; I can't speak Irish," said the fellow, tossing up his nose, and then flinging up his heels.

"You know what arraG.o.d is?" said I.

"No-h!"

"But you know what ruppy is?" said I; and thereupon I winked and nodded.

"No-h;" and then up went the nose, and subsequently the heels.

"Good day," said I; and turned away; I received no counter- salutation; but, as I went down the hill, there was none of the shouting and laughter which generally follow a discomfited party.

They were a hard, sullen, cautious set, in whom a few drops of Gypsy blood were mixed with some Scottish and a much larger quant.i.ty of low Irish. Between them and their queen a striking difference was observable. In her there was both fun and cordiality; in them not the slightest appearance of either. What was the cause of this disparity? The reason was they were neither the children nor the grandchildren of real Gypsies, but only the remote descendants, whereas she was the granddaughter of two genuine Gypsies, old Will Faa and his wife, whose daughter was her mother; so that she might be considered all but a thorough Gypsy; for being by her mother's side a Gypsy, she was of course much more so than she would have been had she sprung from a Gypsy father and a Gentile mother; the qualities of a child, both mental and bodily, depending much less on the father than on the mother. Had her father been a Faa, instead of her mother, I should probably never have heard from her lips a single word of Romany, but found her as sullen and inductile as the Nokk.u.ms on the Green, whom it was of little more use questioning than so many stones.

Nevertheless, she had played me the hukni, and that was not very agreeable; so I determined to be even with her, and by some means or other to see her again. Hearing that on the next day, which was Monday, a great fair was to be held in the neighbourhood of Kelso, I determined to go thither, knowing that the likeliest place in all the world to find a Gypsy at is a fair; so I went to the grand cattle- fair of St. George, held near the ruined castle of Roxburgh, in a lovely meadow not far from the junction of the Teviot and Tweed; and there sure enough, on my third saunter up and down, I met my Gypsy.

We met in the most cordial manner--smirks and giggling on her side, smiles and nodding on mine. She was dressed respectably in black, and was holding the arm of a stout wench, dressed in garments of the same colour, who she said was her niece, and a rinkeni rakli. The girl whom she called rinkeni or handsome, but whom I did not consider handsome, had much of the appearance of one of those Irish girls, born in London, whom one so frequently sees carrying milk-pails about the streets of the metropolis. By the bye, how is it that the children born in England of Irish parents account themselves Irish and not English, whilst the children born in Ireland of English parents call themselves not English but Irish? Is it because there is ten times more nationality in Irish blood than in English? After the smirks, smiles, and salutations were over, I inquired whether there were many Gypsies in the fair. "Plenty," said she, "plenty Tates, Andersons, Reeds, and many others. That woman is an Anderson- -yonder is a Tate," said she, pointing to two common-looking females.

"Have they much Romany?" said I. "No," said she, "scarcely a word."

"I think I shall go and speak to them," said I. "Don't," said she; "they would only be uncivil to you. Moreover, they have nothing of that kind--on the word of a rawnie they have not."

I looked in her eyes; there was nothing of hukni in them, so I shook her by the hand; and through rain and mist, for the day was a wretched one, trudged away to Dryburgh to pay my respects at the tomb of Walter Scott, a man with whose principles I have no sympathy, but for whose genius I have always entertained the most intense admiration.

Footnotes:

{1} A Christian.

{2} A fox.

{3} "Merripen" means life, and likewise death; even as "collico"

means to-morrow as well as yesterday, and perhaps "sorlo," evening as well as morning.

{4} A Black Lovel.

{5} Going a-tinkering.

{6} I'll show you about, brother! I'm selling skewers.

{7} A cup of good ale.