Maggie looked up in the new face rather tremblingly as it approached, and was reassured by the thought that her aunt Pullet and the rest were right when they called her a gypsy; for this face, with the bright dark eyes and the long hair, was really something like what she used to see in the glass before she cut her hair off.
"My little lady, where are you going to ?" the gypsy said, in a tone of coaxing deference.
It was delightful, and just what Maggie expected; the gypsies saw at once that she was a little lady, and were prepared to treat her accordingly.
"Not any farther," said Maggie, feeling as if she were saying what she had rehearsed in a dream.

"I'm come to stay with _you_, please." "That's pretty; come, then.

Why, what a nice little lady you are, to be sure!" said the gypsy, taking her by the hand.

Maggie thought her very agreeable, but wished she had not been so dirty.
There was quite a group round the fire when she reached it.

An old gypsy woman was seated on the ground nursing her knees, and occasionally poking a skewer into the round kettle that sent forth an odorous steam; two small shock-headed children were lying prone and resting on their elbows something like small sphinxes; and a placid donkey was bending his head over a tall girl, who, lying on her back, was scratching his nose and indulging him with a bite of excellent stolen hay.