The Phuri Dai smiled.
“Always we must wander,” she answered. “It is part of our life – moreover we must earn our living.”
“That is true,” Valda agreed, “and yet it must sometimes be sad to be always moving, always going somewhere else.”
“That is how we live,” the Phuri Dai said simply. “Perhaps it’s the curse of the gypsies, perhaps it’s a blessing. It makes us find happiness amongst ourselves.”
Valda thought later that evening, when they had camped for the night, how true that was.
They had found a field where a sign had told them they were welcome, not far from a large farm, which was called a Mas.
It had the red-tiled roof of Provence and there were cypress trees growing round it as a protection from the stormy winds that would sweep in from the sea in the winter.
Most Mas in the
