Free Treasures from Grandma's Attic by Arleta Richardson

have to stop off here once a month to leave the memorabilia you’d collected along the road.”
    We talked about walking down to the Gibbses’ to see if the Gypsies were still there but decided against it.
    “It’s not that we’re afraid of them,” I said to Ma as we did the dinner dishes. “But we didn’t want them to think we were spying on them.”
    “That was sensible,” Ma said. “I think they like to keep pretty much to themselves.”
    We were in for a surprise the next morning. When Ma opened the back door to call Pa and the boys to breakfast, she just missed hitting a little Gypsy boy who was standing on the porch. “Oh, mercy!” Ma exclaimed. “You startled me! Have you been here long?”
    The boy shook his head and said, “Baby sick. You come?”
    “Of course,” Ma replied promptly. Quickly she turned, and as she buttered some biscuits and put ham on them, she instructed me to go ahead with breakfast. Before Pa got to the house, she was sailing down the lane with the little boy running to keep up with her.
    “Do you think Ma should have gone over there by herself?” Reuben worried.
    “Ma can take care of herself,” Pa replied. “When someone is sick, you know she’ll go.”
    “But Gypsies, Pa,” Roy said. “They aren’t—”
    “Gypsies are people, Roy. They live differently, but they have the same needs everyone else has. God loves them as much as He does us. You know your ma doesn’t ask people for their pedigree if they need help.”
    That closed the matter, but even Pa was surprised a little later to see the Gypsy wagon turning down our lane. I watched openmouthed as Ma jumped down from the back of the wagon and then reached up to take a shawl-wrapped bundle from the Gypsy woman.
    “Mabel, fill the small tub with water, please. Put in just enough hot to take off the chill.”
    I scurried to do as Ma requested, and Pa went out to the wagon.
    “This is Mr. Romani,” Ma told him. “They were on the way to Canada when the baby took sick. Come, Mrs. Romani. We’ll take care of her.”
    Ma soon had the baby unwrapped from the shawl and many layers of clothing. She sponged the feverish little body with tepid water. Mrs. Romani looked frightened, but she allowed Ma to do whatever she wanted to with the baby.
    “I’ll fix some warm water with sugar and just a drop of peppermint,” Ma told her. “Then I think you should both lie down and get some sleep.”
    “I’d have a fever too if I had all that wrapped around me in this weather,” I spoke to Ma after the Romanis had been settled in the spare room.
    Ma nodded. “I know. They think babies should be wrapped up tightly to keep the evil spirits away. I don’t think it’s any more than summer colic, but she was so worried. It will be easier to look after them here than to run back and forth to the Gibbses’ pasture.”
    The next couple of days were interesting to say the least. The Romanis did not want to come into the house to eat, so we ate outside. Pa set up one of the tables we used when threshers were here, and Ma made it plain that our guests were to eat with us. They listened quietly while Pa read the Bible and we prayed. We couldn’t tell whether they understood or not, but Pa assured us that God’s Word would not return to Him without accomplishing what it set out to do.
    Mrs. Romani timidly offered to help, and Ma gave her tasks that she could do while she watched the baby. The little boys picked raspberries, and Pa reported that Mr. Romani was mending harnesses and sharpening tools in the barn.
    “Are you going to ask the Romanis to go to church with us?” I asked Ma on Sunday morning.
    Ma considered that for a moment. “No,” she said finally. “I don’t think they would be comfortable in an unfamiliar place. I don’t know how they worship God, but they don’t need curious people staring at them.”
    Pa told Mr. Romani that we would return shortly after noon, and we left for the service.
    Ma had no sooner