As the sun rose higher in the sky Timmy struggled to point the way toward the village where some of the Gypsies had circled their wagons among the framed houses and shops. Where once before had gardens with lovely flowers now had Wagons forming a circle in which the middle lay a tent. The tent was a lovely shade of purple with sounds of laughter coming from inside. Although we could not see what was happening the air was filled with mystery. Some of the locals peered out from doors and windows in wonder, thinking aloud, "shall we get closer?" Some of them shook their heads in fear not wanting to become part of past history, while others timidly walked as quiet as a mouse toward the sounds coming from the tent. Was this a possible trap? of was it merely Gypsies setting up to do some trading. Perhaps it was a mixture of both for the Gypsies had blamed the township for their plight with the loss of the elders of the clan. Possibly it was some sort of witchcraft hidden deep within the sounds of music that echoed across the hill side. Suddenly........A loud horn blasted the air like molasses slowly oozing from a bottle that had been chilled for years. Looking around the Mayor noticed all sorts of beings bearing down on the town much like an army of ants heading to a picnic during long hot summer days. Fear struck the hearts of many that morning but, was it fear? or simply a small amount of jealousy.