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Updated: June 29, 2025
It is long, long since I ceased to weep at that. "Whatsoever is not of faith is sin." Rhona Boswell, down whose face also the tears were streaming, nodded in a patronising way to Wilderspin, and said, 'Reia, my mammy lives in the clouds, and I'll tell her to show you the Golden Hand, I will.
No, reia, Winnie Wynne ain't in Wales at all, else I'd never give up this patrin-chase. So fare ye well; and she held out her hand, which I grasped, reluctant to let it go. 'Fare ye well, reia, she repeated, as she walked swiftly away; 'I wonder whether we shall ever meet agin. 'Indeed, I hope so, I said.
Sinfi looked at me mournfully, and said: 'It's a bad job, reia, but if poor Winnie Wynne's a-starvin' it ain't the fault o' them as happens to ha' got the full belly. There ain't a Romany in Wales, nor there ain't a Gorgio nuther, as wouldn't give Winnie a crust, if wonst we could find her.
This last variation of expression was what now suddenly came into her eyes as she said, scrutinising me from head to foot: 'Reia, you make a good git-up for a Romany-chal. Can you rokkra Romanes? No, I see you can't. I should ha' took you for the right sort. I should ha' begun the Romany rokkerpen with you, only you ain't got the Romany glime in your eyes.
'Reia, said Sinfi, 'you told me wonst as your great-grandmother was a Romany named Fenella Stanley. I have axed the Scollard about her, and what do you think he says? He says that she wur my great-grandmother too, for she married a Lovell as died. 'Good heavens, Sinfi! Well, I'm proud of my kinswoman.
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