Gypsy Dictionary [59]
open on the fourth, or right side to the mountain, towards which quarter it is grassy and steep. Most of the houses are ancient, and are built of rude stone. By far the most remarkable-looking house is a large and dilapidated building, which has much the appearance of a ruinous Spanish posada or venta. There is not much life in the place, and you may stand ten minutes where the street opens upon the square without seeing any other human beings than two or three women seated at the house doors, or a ragged, bare-headed boy or two lying on the grass on the upper side of the Green. It came to pass that late one Saturday afternoon, at the commencement of August, in the year 1866, I was standing where the street opens on this Green, or imperfect square. My eyes were fixed on the dilapidated house, the appearance of which awakened in my mind all kinds of odd ideas. "A strange-looking place," said I to myself at last, "and I shouldn't wonder if strange things have been done in it."
"Come to see the Gypsy toon, sir?" said a voice not far from me.
I turned, and saw standing within two yards of me a woman about forty years of age, of decent appearance, though without either cap or bonnet.
"A Gypsy town, is it?" said I; "why, I thought it had been Kirk Yetholm."
Woman.--"Weel, sir, if it is Kirk Yetholm, must it not be a Gypsy toon? Has not Kirk Yetholm ever been a Gypsy toon?"
Myself.--"My good woman, 'ever' is a long term, and Kirk Yetholm must have been Kirk Yetholm long before there were Gypsies in Scotland, or England either."
Woman.--"Weel, sir, your honour may be right, and I dare say is; for your honour seems to be a learned gentleman. Certain, however, it is that Kirk Yetholm has been a Gypsy toon beyond the memory of man."
Myself.--"You do not seem to be a Gypsy."
Woman.--"Seem to be a Gypsy! Na, na, sir! I am the bairn of decent parents, and belong not to Kirk Yetholm, but to Haddington."
Myself.--"And what brought you to Kirk Yetholm?"
Woman.--"Oh, my ain little bit of business brought me to Kirk Yetholm, sir."
Myself.--"Which is no business of mine. That's a queer-looking house there."
Woman.--"The house that your honour was looking at so attentively when I first spoke to ye? A queer-looking house it is, and a queer kind of man once lived in it. Does your honour know who once lived in that house?"
Myself.--"No. How should I? I am here for the first time, and after taking a bite and sup at the inn at the town over yonder I strolled hither."
Woman.--"Does your honour come from far?"
Myself.--"A good way. I came from Strandraar, the farthest part of Galloway, where I landed from a ship which brought me from Ireland."
Woman.--"And what may have brought your honour into these parts?"
Myself.--"Oh, my ain wee bit of business brought me into these parts."
"Which wee bit of business is nae business of mine," said the woman, smiling. "Weel, your honour is quite right to keep your ain counsel; for, as your honour weel kens, if a person canna keep his ain counsel it is nae likely that any other body will keep it for him. But to gae back to the queer house, and the queer man that once 'habited it. That man, your honour, was old Will Faa."
Myself.--"Old Will Faa!"
Woman.--"Yes. Old Will Faa, the Gypsy king, smuggler, and innkeeper; he lived in that inn."
Myself.--"Oh, then that house has been an inn?"
Woman.--"It still is an inn, and has always been an inn; and though it has such an eerie look it is sometimes lively enough, more especially after the Gypsies have returned from their summer excursions in the country. It's a roaring place then. They spend most of their sleight-o'-hand gains in that house."
Myself.--"Is the house still kept by a Faa?"
Woman.--"No, sir; there are no Faas to keep it. The name is clean dead in the land, though there is still some of the blood remaining."
Myself.--"I really should like to see some of the blood."
Woman.--"Weel, sir, you can do that without much difficulty; there are not many Gypsies just now
"Come to see the Gypsy toon, sir?" said a voice not far from me.
I turned, and saw standing within two yards of me a woman about forty years of age, of decent appearance, though without either cap or bonnet.
"A Gypsy town, is it?" said I; "why, I thought it had been Kirk Yetholm."
Woman.--"Weel, sir, if it is Kirk Yetholm, must it not be a Gypsy toon? Has not Kirk Yetholm ever been a Gypsy toon?"
Myself.--"My good woman, 'ever' is a long term, and Kirk Yetholm must have been Kirk Yetholm long before there were Gypsies in Scotland, or England either."
Woman.--"Weel, sir, your honour may be right, and I dare say is; for your honour seems to be a learned gentleman. Certain, however, it is that Kirk Yetholm has been a Gypsy toon beyond the memory of man."
Myself.--"You do not seem to be a Gypsy."
Woman.--"Seem to be a Gypsy! Na, na, sir! I am the bairn of decent parents, and belong not to Kirk Yetholm, but to Haddington."
Myself.--"And what brought you to Kirk Yetholm?"
Woman.--"Oh, my ain little bit of business brought me to Kirk Yetholm, sir."
Myself.--"Which is no business of mine. That's a queer-looking house there."
Woman.--"The house that your honour was looking at so attentively when I first spoke to ye? A queer-looking house it is, and a queer kind of man once lived in it. Does your honour know who once lived in that house?"
Myself.--"No. How should I? I am here for the first time, and after taking a bite and sup at the inn at the town over yonder I strolled hither."
Woman.--"Does your honour come from far?"
Myself.--"A good way. I came from Strandraar, the farthest part of Galloway, where I landed from a ship which brought me from Ireland."
Woman.--"And what may have brought your honour into these parts?"
Myself.--"Oh, my ain wee bit of business brought me into these parts."
"Which wee bit of business is nae business of mine," said the woman, smiling. "Weel, your honour is quite right to keep your ain counsel; for, as your honour weel kens, if a person canna keep his ain counsel it is nae likely that any other body will keep it for him. But to gae back to the queer house, and the queer man that once 'habited it. That man, your honour, was old Will Faa."
Myself.--"Old Will Faa!"
Woman.--"Yes. Old Will Faa, the Gypsy king, smuggler, and innkeeper; he lived in that inn."
Myself.--"Oh, then that house has been an inn?"
Woman.--"It still is an inn, and has always been an inn; and though it has such an eerie look it is sometimes lively enough, more especially after the Gypsies have returned from their summer excursions in the country. It's a roaring place then. They spend most of their sleight-o'-hand gains in that house."
Myself.--"Is the house still kept by a Faa?"
Woman.--"No, sir; there are no Faas to keep it. The name is clean dead in the land, though there is still some of the blood remaining."
Myself.--"I really should like to see some of the blood."
Woman.--"Weel, sir, you can do that without much difficulty; there are not many Gypsies just now