Tan awoke quite early from his first sleep far away from home, amid the strange surroundings of a traveling caravan. His first thought was that Ethel must be near, for Tan’s little bed at Ferndale occupied a place in his sister’s bedroom. Not fully aroused to consciousness as to where he was, in a gentle voice he called, “Is it time to get up, Ethel?” Failing to receive an answer, the child lay still for a few moments longer. Presently a ray of sunshine penetrated through a crack, lighting up the darkened room, and then the little fellow realized he was among strangers.
“I want Ethel to come,” said the same silvery voice. The words were spoken more plaintively than imperatively.
“Shut up there, can’t yer,” came a growling voice from a corner. But Meg, with a woman’s instinct, sensed Tan’s distress and tried to pacify the child.
“Yes, my pet, you shall see Ethel by and by. We ain’t ready to start yet,” and with that answer Tan had to be content. Sitting up on the bundle of clothes that had done duty for a bed, his next move was to slip quietly to the door which was only partially closed, and standing there on tiptoe he surveyed the scene before him.
It was a lovely autumn morning; the sun, not long risen, was touching with gold the road beside which the caravan was pitched. A few yards farther on was a clump of trees, already turning brown. Between the gold and the brown were the relics of summer days, leaves which had as yet escaped the autumn tinge. All was so entirely new to the little fellow that, with a child’s appreciation of anything that caused a change from the ordinary routine, the thoughts of home were for the moment discarded, and clapping his hands together he shouted with pleasure.
“ ’Alloa, little un, what’s up?” called Jack in not an unkind tone, giving himself a shake as a preparation for rising, like a big shaggy dog.
“I got up, and it looks so pretty outside,” responded the child.
All were now up and stirring around. A fire was quickly kindled outside, and breakfast prepared. The family sat down to eat. Tan stared with amazement. No one washed their face or brushed their hair, for washing was only indulged in on rare occasions. Some bread was spread with lard for Tan, and seated on the steps in childish delight at the novel proceedings, he managed to have a fairly good meal.
As yet no one had questioned him as to his name. Meg at last approached the subject cautiously. She sincerely hoped he would not remember his last name, and if he did, she must do her best to erase it from his memory as speedily as possible. Now was the best time to broach the subject.
“Whet’s yer name, my pretty?” she queried.
Tan turned his blue eyes full upon the dark, hardened face of the gypsy woman. “Ethel and Jessie and Papa and Mamma call me Tan, but my own proper name is Stanley Clarke, and I live at Ferndale. Wandsworth Park is quite close. Do you think you will know the way, ’cause Mamma will want her little boy ever so,” and the fair face looked sweetly pathetic in its eagerness to go home.
“Wouldn’t yer like to go to the seaside and play by the big water?” asked Meg.
“No, thank you. I want to go to Ethel,” and the large eyes filled with tears as the rosy mouth puckered up.
Meg did not want a scene just then. Any workman might pass by and be attracted by the child’s cries; besides they were not so very far from London, only a matter of twelve or thirteen miles. They had just passed a mile or so beyond the town of Epsom and intended returning there to try selling their wares. The man had said they must keep little Tan quiet in the van for the present. So they told him he should soon go home if he kept good, and didn’t cry. This, with the diversion of seeing the horses brought and harnessed, kept Tan from tears for a while.
Slowly the vehicle moved along the road, and little Tan, sitting on the floor inside with nothing to play with and no companion, found the time hang very heavy on his spirit. Poor little chap! Over and over again he asked the girl, who was the only one who kept him company, if they were nearly home, and she always gave the same answer, “Getting on that way.”
When they stopped, Meg and her son went out trying to sell some of their wares, but they returned to the caravan tired and dispirited. Early in the afternoon they hitched the horses to the van and started down the solitary country road again. Slowly the horses jogged on, and little Tan found some amusement in caressing a small black kitten, which Jack had picked up just as they were leaving the town. Throwing it into the van he called out, “Here’s something to play with.”
Tan was passionately fond of anything alive, and as the kitten was friendly and playful they got on very comfortably together. Tan evidently thought the frisky little animal that looked so sleek and made herself so cozy in his lap understood all he whispered in her ear.
“You know, kitty,” said he, “I’m going to see Ethel and the rest soon. It can’t be very long now, for we’ve come ever so far. Do you like riding in a house on wheels? I’m mostly tired of it now; it goes so slowly. Do you like it?”
And the kitten, arching her back, rubbed Tan’s face with her little soft furry head, which he thoroughly understood to mean that she liked him but not their way of travel.
In a few hours the caravan drew up on the outskirts of Dorking. It was almost dark; the days finished so early towards the end of October. Tan had fallen asleep, his golden head pillowed on the kitten’s back.
“Seems a shame to wake him,” said Jack as he looked in to see how the child was.
It was strange how little Tan had touched some kind feeling in the rough lad’s heart. Had he been his own brother, it is doubtful whether there would have been more interest, if as much shown. Meg judged it advisable to undress the child. He was so thoroughly tired out with the long, weary day that almost unconsciously he submitted.
“My! what fine things,” mused Meg, who was called Mrs. Smith by the fraternity of gypsies that knew the family.
“Well, mother,” said the girl who stood by, “s’pose yer’ll sell them fine things when we gets to Brighton?”
Meg nodded. She knew a woman there who would buy anything they picked up on the road, from a pair of baby’s shoes to a young chicken. They would reach Brighton by the end of the week, possibly a day earlier if they kept on the go, the man had told his wife. Once there, they would take the boy round door-to-door with them. No one would know the child if they stained his face a darker shade and clothed him in the gypsy garb, which consisted of ragged pants and shirt with a little shawl pinned around him.
Early the next morning they were off, in fact before the little fellow had finished dreaming of lying in his mother’s arms while Ethel combed and brushed the golden curls, which now hung so tangled round the baby face. The kitten had slipped off before the van started and sat watching his sleeping friend. When Tan awoke they were well on the road, having left Dorking three miles behind.
Through the villages Mrs. Smith walked with her basket, but no sooner were all traces of houses lost sight of than she climbed into the single room of the house on wheels. It was just as she had climbed aboard for the second time that morning that little Tan awoke. His first thought was, “Where is Mamma!” Then the cruel deceit seemed to dawn upon him, and, sitting up, he burst into tears, sobbing out, “Mamma! Why don’t you take me to Mamma!”
All the patience penned up in that little heart had at last given way. It had dawned on him as he awoke from his dream of home that those people were not taking him back to his family as they promised.
Meg tried to quiet him with the vain suggestion that he would soon see his mother.
“I want her now,” he sobbed. “Mamma, Mamma!”
“Come, stop that row!” growled the man who was on the shafts driving the horses. But Tan could not stop the pent-up sobs that shook his little frame. In a vain attempt to stop his cries Mrs. Smith promised sweets, buns or anything else he wanted to eat.
Fortunately for the gypsies, though unfortunately for the child, they were far from any house at that time, or his crying might have attracted attention. However, it was not unusual to hear a child crying, and there were many people who would never stop to inquire about a child’s troubles, though, thank God, there were some that would.
How often a little word and a smile will cause the trouble to pass and the weeping little one to go on its way rejoicing. But in poor Tan’s case it would have needed much more understanding and action, and there was no one to hear the bitter cries. No one? Yes, there was One, and He who had said, “Suffer the little children to come unto Me,” had not forgotten the child, whose parents were praying without ceasing for their darling.
Jack, in his rough way, tried to comfort him, but Mrs. Smith said, “Let him ’ave his cry out; it’ll be all the better for him.” And he did. Gradually the sobs subsided, and then Meg let him look out, a privilege up to this time denied him. It was time, too, for the rosy cheeks were decidedly paler than normal, because of the confinement. It was no part of Mrs. Smith’s plan that he should lose his bright looks. She counted on that to attract customers for her goods.
Tan soon recovered his spirits in the novelty of leaning over the doorway and watching the horses as they toiled slowly and steadily on. It was marvelously bright for the time of the year, just as though the summer had made one last effort to hang on before giving up.
As the caravan passed through a village, Tan was told to “come inside and sit low down” so he would not be seen. It was on one of these occasions that suddenly he remembered the kitten. Meg saw him peering in every corner and under every bundle.
“What are you looking after, Tom?”
Mrs. Smith and her husband had agreed to call him Tom. It was so much like Tan that they were sure the child would scarcely notice the difference, and, in fact, he did sometimes answer to his new name. “In time he’ll forget all the past,” she had told her husband, which was certainly true, for a child of five years is learning new things all the time and adapts quickly to change.
“What be yer looking for?” echoed the girl Sal, as her mother had not received any answer from little Tan, so intent was he on his search.
“Looking for the pretty kitty.”
“Well, you won’t find her, for she took herself off the last time we put up,” said Meg.
This was a new trial, but only a short-lived one, for to pacify him Meg promised to get another one next time they passed some houses.
“But won’t that be like stealing, ’cause she won’t belong to you?” said Tan.
For an answer he received a sharp, unexpected exclamation of “Shut up!” from the man, who had overheard the child’s question. Frightened by his words and manner, Tan kept quiet.