“Oh, look, Julia, look! is n’t that my gypsy? You saw her the day of the wedding,” and Brenda grasped her cousin’s arm excitedly.
Glancing where Brenda pointed, Julia saw, only a few feet away, the gypsy whom Mr. Barlow had sent from the house. She was gazing at them rather sullenly, and Julia did not like her expression.
“There!” exclaimed Arthur; “before Mr. Elston returns from his last look at the prize cattle, we ’ll just have time to have our fortunes told.”
“Oh, no,” said Julia; “I wouldn’t.”
But the young man was headstrong. “I’m going,” he said, and before they could stop him, he had reached the woman.
“Really, I believe he’s having his fortune told,” said Brenda. “I did n’t suppose he’d be so silly,” forgetting that it was n’t so very long a time since she had been equally foolish.
Presently the young man came back, laughing.
“There, I ’ve had my fortune told; and what do you suppose she said?”
“People do not usually tell what the gypsy prophesies,” said Amy, demurely.
“Oh, I don’t care,” retorted Arthur. “But which of you girls has the gypsy a grudge against?”
“Why?”
“Oh, she told me to beware of a dark-haired young lady who was likely to do me much harm.”
“Brenda’s hair is the darkest,” remarked Julia.
