"What are you doing to this child?" demanded Roy indignantly.

"That's none of your business," was the retort, as the woman for an instant released her hold on the child.

Instantly the little creature darted to the sheltering arms of Peggy, sobbing piteously.

"Oh! Save me from her, she will kill me," the child cried, in a broken voice.

"There! there!" soothed Peggy tenderly, "don't cry. We won't let her harm you any more."

But like a fury the woman flew at the girls. Before she could lay hands on them, however, Roy and Jimsy had seized her arms and held them. At this the crone set up a hideous shriek and, as if it had been a signal, two swarthy men, with dark skins and big earrings in their ears, came running from behind the tents.

"What's the trouble?" they cried, as they ran up, regarding the boys malevolently.

"It's the Wren; they're trying to steal the Wren!" shrilled out the woman.

At this the men rushed at the boys, one of them waving a thick cudgel he carried.

"Let go of that woman," they shouted furiously.

Another instant and the boys would have been in a bad position, for both the gipsies were powerful fellows, and appeared determined to commit violence. But Roy, releasing his hold of the struggling gipsy woman, put up his fists in such a scientific manner that, for an instant, the attack paused. This gave Jimsy time to rush to his side. The instant she was released the woman darted to the side of the men.

"Beat them! Kill them!" she cried frantically.

The men resumed their rush, and the next moment the boys found themselves fighting to escape a furious a.s.sault. Neither of the lads was a weakling, and good habits and constant athletic exercise had placed them in the pink of condition.

But the two gipsies were no mean antagonists. Then, too, the one with the cudgel wielded it skillfully. Time and again Jimsy avoided a heavy blow which, if successful, must have injured him seriously. The girls, screaming, rushed off, carrying "the Wren," as the woman called her, with them. They dashed at top speed back to the spot where the aeroplanes had been left, and summoned Jake.

"I knew something would happen," declared that worthy, as he picked up a monkey wrench, the only weapon at hand, and started off for the woods.

The girls followed him, Miss Prescott not having been vouchsafed anything but a most hurried explanation of what was going on. Just as Jake appeared on the scene Jimsy had received a terrific blow on the arm from one of the gipsy's cudgels. The boy's arm dropped as if paralyzed.

With a howl of triumph the ruffian who had dealt him the blow rushed in on the injured lad. In another instant it would have looked bad indeed for Jimsy, but Roy, landing a hard blow against his a.s.sailant, hastened to his chum's rescue.

"You look after that fellow. I'll take care of this one," cried Jake, rushing into the melee, whirling his monkey wrench in a formidable manner.

The girls, huddled in a group, gazed on in frank alarm.

"Oh, they'll be killed!" shrilled Jess.

"Roy! Roy! Be careful!" cried Peggy.

"Oh, I wish we could get a policeman," cried Bess, clasping her hands nervously. But as it happened a policeman, even if such a personage had been within a dozen miles, was not needed. A clever blow from Roy laid the cudgel wielder low, and the other man, not liking the look of Jake's monkey wrench, capitulated by taking to his heels. The woman cowered back among the tents.

"Come on, let's be going," cried Roy, as he saw that the battle was over.

"Ouch! my wrist!" exclaimed Jimsy, wringing his left hand; "I believe that fellow has broken it."

"Let's have a look," said Roy, as the two boys made their way to the huddled group of girls.

"Nothing but a nasty whack," he p.r.o.nounced, after an examination. "Well, girls, was it an exciting battle?"

"Oh, it was terrible," cried Jess; "we thought you'd be badly beaten."

"But as it is we appear to be future 'white hopes,' not forgetting Jake," smiled Roy, who was still panting from his exertions.

"You were awfully brave, I think," cried Bess admiringly, giving the three "heroes" a warm glance.

"Well, there wasn't anything to do but fight, unless we'd run away,"

laughed Roy, "and now what about the cause of all the trouble?"

He glanced at the little girl clinging to Peggy's hand. The child was pitifully emaciated, with drawn features and large, dark eyes that gazed about her bewilderedly. Her clothing was a red gingham dress that fitted her like a sack. She was shoeless and stockingless. Her brown hair, unkempt and ragged, hung in elf locks about her sad little face.

Certainly, as regarded size and general appearance, her name, "The Wren," fitted her admirably.

"I don't know what to do about her," admitted Peggy; "suppose we ask Aunt Sally? I don't want to let the gipsies have her again, and yet I don't see how we can take her."

At the words the little creature burst into a frantic outbreak.

"Don't let those people have me back; don't," she begged; "they'll kill me if you do."

She clung pa.s.sionately to Peggy's dress. Tears came to the girl's eyes at the pitiful manifestation of fear.

"There! there, dear," soothed Peggy, stroking the child's head, "you shan't go back if we can help it. Come with us for the time being, anyway."

"But we have no legal right to take her," objected Roy.

"Don't say another word," snapped the usually gentle Peggy, whose indignation had been fully aroused, "come on. Let's get back to where we left Aunt Sally, then we can decide what to do."

"Incidentally, we'll do well to get out of this vicinity before any more of those fellows come up. There must be several more somewhere close at hand," exclaimed Jimsy.

"Yes; and I'll bet the others, the two who ran off, have gone to call them," put in Roy; "that woman has disappeared, too."

No time was lost in getting back to the aeroplanes, "The Wren," as the gipsies called her, keeping tight hold of Peggy's hand. The boys walked behind and, with Jake, formed a sort of rear guard to ward off any possible attack. But either the other members of the band were far off, or else they did not care to attempt an a.s.sault, for the party reached the aeroplanes without further incident or molestation.

Miss Prescott's consternation may be imagined as she listened to the tale they had to tell. From time to time during its relation she glanced pityingly at the Wren.

"Poor child!" she exclaimed, gazing at the wizened little creature's bruised arms. They were black and blue from rough handling, and bore painful testimony to the life she had lived among the gipsies.

"What is your name, dear?" she asked, motioning to the child as Peggy finished her story.

"The Wren, that's what they always called me," was the response, in a thin little wisp of a voice.

"Have you no other name?" asked Miss Prescott kindly.

The child shook her head.

"I don't know. Perhaps I did once. I wasn't always with the tribe.

I remember a home and my mother, but that was all so long ago that it isn't clear."

"Then she's not a gipsy," declared Peggy emphatically.