IX.
RETURN FROM CHURCH—THE CUCKOO AND GYPSY—SPIRITUAL DISCOURSE.
The service over, my companions and myself returned towards the encampment by the way we came. Some of the humble part of the congregation laughed and joked at us as we passed. Mr. Petulengro and his wife, however, returned their laughs and jokes with interest. As for Tawno and myself, we said nothing: Tawno, like most handsome fellows, having very little to say for himself at any time; and myself, though not handsome, not being particularly skilful at repartee. Some boys followed us for a considerable time, making all kinds of observations about gypsies; but as we walked at a great pace, we gradually left them behind, and at last lost sight of them. Mrs. Petulengro and Tawno Chikno walked together, even as they had come; whilst Mr. Petulengro and myself followed at a little distance.
“That was a very fine preacher we heard,” said I to Mr. Petulengro, after we had crossed the stile into the fields.
“Very fine, indeed, brother,” said Mr. Petulengro; “he is talked of far and wide, for his sermons; folks say that there is scarcely another like him in the whole of England.”
“He looks rather melancholy, Jasper.”
“He lost his wife several years ago, who, they say, was one of the most beautiful women ever seen. They say that it was grief for her loss that made him come out mighty strong as a preacher; for, though he was a clergyman, he was never heard of in the pulpit before he lost his wife; since then the whole country has rung with the preaching of the clergyman of M … , as they call him. Those two nice young gentlewomen, whom you saw with the female childer, are his daughters.”
“You seem to know all about him, Jasper. Did you ever hear him preach before?”
“Never, brother; but he has frequently been to our tent, and his daughters too, and given us tracts; for he is one of the people they call Evangelicals, who give folks tracts which they cannot read.”
“You should learn to read, Jasper.”
“We have no time, brother.”
“Are you not frequently idle?”
“Never, brother; when we are not engaged in our traffic, we are engaged in taking our relaxation: so we have no time to learn.”
“You really should make an effort. If you were disposed to learn to read, I would endeavour to assist you. You would be all the better for knowing how to read.”
“In what way, brother?”
“Why, you could read the Scriptures, and, by so doing, learn your duty towards your fellow-creatures.”
“We know that already, brother; the constables and justices have contrived to knock that tolerably into our heads.”
“Yet you frequently break the laws.”
“So, I believe, do now and then those who know how to read, brother.”
“Very true, Jasper; but you really ought to learn to read, as, by so doing, you might learn your duty towards yourselves: and your chief duty is to take care of your own souls; did not the preacher say, ‘In what is a man profited, provided he gain the whole world’?”
“We have not much of the world, brother.”
“Very little indeed, Jasper. Did you not observe how the eyes of the whole congregation were turned towards our pew when the preacher said, ‘There are some people who lose their souls, and get nothing in exchange; who are outcast, despised, and miserable’? Now, was not what he said quite applicable to the gypsies?”
“We are not miserable, brother.”
“Well, then, you ought to be, Jasper. Have you an inch of ground of your own? Are you of the least use? Are you not spoken ill of by everybody? What’s a gypsy?”
“What’s the bird noising yonder, brother?”
“The bird! Oh, that’s the cuckoo tolling; but what has the cuckoo to do with the matter?”
“We’ll see, brother; what’s the cuckoo?”
“What is it? you know as much about it as myself, Jasper.”
“Isn’t it a kind of roguish, chaffing bird, brother?”
“I believe it is, Jasper.”
“Nobody knows whence it comes, brother?”
“I believe not, Jasper.”
“Very poor, brother, not a nest of its own?”
“So they say, Jasper.”
“With every person’s bad word, brother?”
“Yes, Jasper, every person is mocking it.”
“Tolerably merry, brother?”
“Yes, tolerably merry, Jasper.”
“Of no use at all, brother?”
“None whatever, Jasper.”
“You would be glad to get rid of the cuckoos, brother?”
“Why, not exactly, Jasper; the cuckoo is a pleasant, funny bird, and its presence and voice give a great charm to the green trees and fields; no, I can’t say I wish exactly to get rid of the cuckoo.”
“Well, brother, what’s a Romany chal?”
“You must answer that question yourself, Jasper.”
“A roguish, chaffing fellow, a’n’t he, brother?”
“Ay, ay, Jasper.”
“Of no use at all, brother?”
“Just so, Jasper; I see …”
“Something very much like a cuckoo, brother?”
“I see what you are after, Jasper.”
“You would like to get rid of us, wouldn’t you?”
“Why, no, not exactly.”
“We are no ornament to the green lanes in spring and summer time are we, brother? and the voices of our chies, with their cukkerin and dukkerin, don’t help to make them pleasant?”
“I see what you are at, Jasper.”
“You would wish to turn the cuckoos into barn-door fowls, wouldn’t you?”
“Can’t say I should, Jasper, whatever some people might wish.”
“And
