The Gates of Dawn by Fergus Hume — Read

If Dan was disposed to envy the open-air life of the Romany, he certainly felt that there were drawbacks to such an existence. This other view of the question impressed itself forcibly on his mind as he sat in Mother Jericho's tent and heard the rain drumming on the roof. It was a rainy night, and the gipsies were all under shelter, though their wretched tents afforded but a poor protection against the rain. Through the chinks of the canvas the water persistently dripped, and formed little puddles on the floor. Mother Jericho, desirous of warmth, had lighted a fire at the door of her abode, and this filled the tent with acrid smoke. The flap at the entrance was fastened back to do away with this nuisance, but the entering wind drove the smoke inward, and made the inmates cough and rub their smarting eyes.

Dan was the only guest, as Tim was absent from the camp. He had been away with his cart and donkey for two days, much to the regret of Dan, who wished particularly to see him. Indeed, it was principally on this account that he had left his comfortable waterproof caravan on this wild night and had come down to the gipsy camp. Anxious to question the tinker concerning his connection with Dr. Merle, the vagrant sought an interview, but, to his disappointment, found no one in the tent but Mother Jericho. The old lady welcomed him in a wheezy voice, and offered him the hospitality of her smoky abode. Dan accepted, as, in default of Tim, he thought he might pick up a few scraps of information from the old gipsy. In this he was mistaken. Mother Jericho was as close as an oyster when it so pleased her.