"
"_Is_ yer name Gifford?" Gyp asked in surprise.
"Of course 'tis, Gyp. Why d'ye ask? Ain't ye never heard that before?"
she asked, sharply.
"Never heard us folks called anything but gypsies," he replied.
"Well, how could ye? Don't no one never come here," his mother said,
with fearful disregard of grammar.
"Then why isn't _my_ name Gifford, too?" he persisted.
"Wal, _'tis_. Ye was named John, John Gifford, but ye couldn't seem
ter say that in yer baby days, so ye left off the 'John,' and called,
'Gifford,' 'Gyp,' an' 'Gyp' it has been ever since. Don't they call
ye that at school? I told the ol' feller what come ter say ye must
'tend school that that was yer name."
Gyp did not reply.
He thought best to be silent, and picking up one of his books, he
studied until dinner was ready.
No time was wasted in serving. A very small low table was dragged to
the center of the floor, the kettle was placed upon it, and then, a
hungry circle, they swarmed around it.
The soup was very hot, but each was provided with a long slice of
bread, and these they dipped into the soup, blowing it for a moment,
and then eating it ravenously.
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