“There was still sufficient daylight for us to distinguish wayside objects, and our listless spirits gave an upward perk as we came upon a small half-naked gipsy brat picking blackberries from a low-growing bush. The sudden apparition of two horsewomen and a hyaena set it off crying, and in any case we should scarcely have gleaned any useful geographical information from that source; but there was a probability that we might strike a gipsy encampment somewhere along our route. We rode on hopefully but uneventfully for another mile or so.

“ ‘I wonder what that child was doing there,’ said Constance presently.

“ ‘Picking blackberries. Obviously.’

“ ‘I don’t like the way it cried,’ pursued Constance; ‘somehow its wail keeps ringing in my ears.’