There was a gypsy family always roaming between Windsor and London. The first words taught to their youngest child were “Romany rye!” and these it was trained to address to me.  The little tot came up to me, a little brown-faced, black-eyed thing, and said, “How-do, Omany ’eye?” Great was the triumph, rejoicing and laughter of the mother and father, and all the little tribe. (More…)