FROM

CHAPTER XXVI.

"While he hath a child to love him

No man can be poor indeed;
While he trusts a Friend above him

None can sorrow, fear, or need."-Tupper.

WOULD willingly draw a veil over the incidents that occurred, and the accidents that happened, to the Wanderer from the time she left Inverness by train, till the day I find myself once more out on the breezy common of Streatham, with the horses' heads bearing southward away! But I am telling a plain unvarnished tale, not merely for the amusement of those who may do me the honour to read it, but for the guidance of those who may at some future date take it into their heads to enjoy a gipsy outing.

When I arrived in Glasgow the summer had so far gone, that it became a question with me whether I should finish my northern tour there and journey

back to the south of England by a different route, or push on and cross the Grampians at all hazards, take the whole expedition, men, horses, and caravan, back by train to London, and tour thence down through the southern counties. The New Forest had always a charm for me, as all forests have, and I longed to take the Wanderer through it.

So I chose the latter plan, and for sake of the experience I gained-dark as it was-I do not now regret it.

I ought to say that the officials of all ranks belonging to the railway (North-Eastern route) were exceedingly kind and considerate, and did all for my comfort and the safety of the Wanderer that could be done. I shall never forget the pains Mr. Marsters, of Glasgow, took about the matter, nor that of Mr. McLean and others in Inverness.

The wheels were taken off the Wanderer as well as the wheel carriages, and she was then shipped on to a trolly and duly secured. The one great mistake made was not having springs under her.

Men and horses went on before, and the caravan followed by goods'. In due time I myself arrived in town, and by the aid of a coachmaker and a gang of hands the great caravan was unloaded, and carefully bolted once more on her fore and aft carriages. Her beautiful polished mahogany sides and gilding were black with grime and smoke, but a wash all over put them to rights.

I then unlocked the back door to see how matters stood there. Something lay behind the door, but by dint of steady pushing it opened at last.

Then the scene presented to my view beggars description. A more complete wreck of the interior of a saloon it is impossible to conceive.

The doors of every cupboard and locker had been forced open with the awful shaking, and their contents lay on the deck mixed up in one chaotic heap-china, delf, and broken glass, my papers, manuscripts, and letters, my choicest photographs and best bound books, butter, bread, the cruets, eggs, and portions of my wardrobe, while the whole was freely besprinkled with paraffin, and derisively, as it were, bestrewn with blooming heather and hothouse flowers! Among the litter lay my little ammunition magazine and scattered matches-safety matches I need not say, else the probability is there would have been a bonfire on the line, and no more Wanderer to-day.

It seemed to me to be the work of fiends. It was enough to make an angel weep. The very rods on which ran the crimson silken hangings of the skylight windows were wrenched out and added to the pile.

It struck me at first, and the same thought occurred to the goods manager, that burglars had been at work and sacked the Wanderer.

But no, for nothing was missing.
Moral to all whom it concerns :

caravan on a railway truck.

Never put your

It took me days of hard work to restore the status quo ante.

And all the while it was raining, and the streets covered with mud. The noise, and din, and dirt around me, were maddening. How I hated London then! Its streets, its shops, its rattling cabs, its umbrellaed

crowds, the very language of its people. And how I wished myself back again on the wolds of Yorkshire, among the Northumbrian hills or the Grampian range -anywhere-anywhere out of the world of London, and feel the fresh, pure breezes of heaven blowing in my face, see birds, and trees, and flowers, and listen to the delightful sounds of rural life, instead of to cockney-murdered English.

Caravans like the Wanderer have no business to be in cities. They ought to give cities a wide, wide berth, and it will be my aim to do so in future.

The journey through London was accomplished in safety, though we found ourselves more than once in a block. When we had crossed over Chelsea Bridge, however, my spirits, which till now had been far below freezing point, began to rise, and once upon the common, with dwarf furze blooming here and there, and crimson morsels of ling (Erica communis), a balmy soft wind blowing, and the sun shining in a sky of blue, I forgot my troubles, and found myself singing once more, a free and independent gipsy.

But now to hark back a little. Who should meet me in London, all unexpectedly as it were, but "mamma"? I mean my children's mother, and with her came my little daughter Inez! Long flaxen hair hath she, and big grey wondering eyes, but she is wise in her day and generation.

And Inez had determined in her own mind that she would accompany me on my tour through England -south, and be the little mistress of the land yacht Wanderer.

So mamma left us at Park Lane, and went away home to her other wee "toddlers." She took with her Polly, the cockatoo. It was a fair exchange: I had Inez and she had Polly; besides, one parrot is quite enough in a caravan, though for the matter of that Inie can do the talking of two.

A few silent tears were dropped after the partingtears which she tried to hide from me.

But London sights and wonders are to a child pre-eminently calculated to banish grief and care, especially when supplemented by an unlimited allowance of ripe plums and chocolate creams.

Inez dried her eyes and smiled, and never cried again. But if her cares were ended mine were only commencing, and would not terminate for weeks to come. Henceforward a child's silvery treble was to ring through my "hallan," and little footsteps would patter on my stairs.

I was to bear the onus of a great responsibility. I was to be both "ma" and "pa" to her, nurse and lady's maid all in one. Might not, I asked myself, any one or more of a thousand accidents befall her? Might she not, for instance, catch her death of cold, get lost in acrowd, get run over in some street, fall ill of pear and plum fever, or off the steps of the caravan?

I must keep my eye on her by night and by day. I made special arrangements for her comfort at night. The valet's after-cabin was requisitioned for extra space, and he relegated to sleep on shore, so that we and Bob had all the Wanderer to ourselves.

Hallan, Scottice, cottage, or place of abode.