One of the low, arched gipsy-tents, common to that people, was pitched hard by, but it either was, or appeared to be, empty.
'Well, are you going ?' said the stout man, looking up from the ground where he was lying at his ease, into her grandfather's face.

'You were in a mighty hurry a minute ago.

Go, if you like.

You're your own master, I hope ?' 'Don't vex him,' returned Isaac List, who was squatting like a frog on the other side of the fire, and had so screwed himself up that he seemed to be squinting all over; 'he didn't mean any offence.' 'You keep me poor, and plunder me, and make a sport and jest of me besides,' said the old man, turning from one to the other.

'Ye'll drive me mad among ye.' The utter irresolution and feebleness of the grey-haired child, contrasted with the keen and cunning looks of those in whose hands he was, smote upon the little listener's heart.