only to see four green glowing eyes in the distance, following like points of fire through the dusk.
The three friends called a halt to decide what should be done.
“We can’t spend the night on the road,” said Jensina. “At least,” she added, “not without a campfire.” For her gypsy instincts were still quite strong.
The chance of making a campfire, with no matches, seemed very slight, but in this they were luckier than they expected, for Poor Cecco, who had been sniffing the air eagerly, suddenly exclaimed: “I smell burning!”
Sure enough, on following him a short distance up the road they found, on a bare space of ground set about with juniper bushes, the remains of a fire which some passing tramp had lighted not long ago. The ashes were still warm, and by blowing on these Jensina, who understood such matters, soon had a nice little blaze started, while Poor Cecco and Bulka gathered twigs and straws for fresh fuel.
It was cheerful to gather round the fire and see the red sparks flying up into the air, and the smoke curling away overhead. The only trouble was, they had nothing to cook by it, and now that darkness had fallen no one felt brave enough to venture out of the circle of firelight to look for food. In fact, though they talked loudly to keep up their courage, they were all three very nervous, and at each sound of a crackling twig, or the rustle of grass in the
