"If they had, they'd have had to cross this bridge, and I couldn't miss seeing them.

I've been here two hours." This seemed conclusive, and Pompton had no reason to think the man was not telling the truth.

But he was without doubt a gypsy, and Pompton had small respect for the veracity of the gypsy.

He waited a few moments, pretending to be interested in the man's basketry, but really considering whether to insist on going on to the camp hidden in the trees, or whether to believe the man's statement.
And it was at this moment that Marjorie's shrieks rang out.
"Good heavens!" cried Pompton.

"What is that ?" The basket-weaver neither heard nor answered him, for the shrieks continued, and Pompton set off at a run in the direction whence they came.