Jannet, altogether inexperienced in country life, was getting a glimpse of the kindly, helpful feeling that exists in many such neighborhoods. She stood at one side, near the blaze, which the farmer’s wife tried to make burn more briskly.
“Who’s the girl?” bluntly asked the old lady.
“Oh, I forgot,” hastily said Nell. “This is Jannet Eldon, who has come to live with her uncle Pieter. Jannet, this is Mrs. Meer,—and her grandmother.”
“Jannet Eldon, huh? Jannet. That was the name of the girl,—so you are Pieter’s niece, then?”
“Yes’m,” said Jannet, smiling at the old lady and looking at her with interest. “Did you know my mother?”
“I saw her often enough. You look like her. I told her fortune once, and I’ll tell yours.”
Janet shrank back a little, scarcely conscious that she did so. “Thank you, I don’t believe that I want to have you do that. I’d rather not know, even if you can tell it.”
“You don’t believe in fortune telling, then. I’ll not hurt you. If I read anything bad in your hand, I’ll not tell you that.”
The old woman’s voice rose shrilly, and Mrs. Meer looked rather distressed. But Jannet’s warm heart came to the rescue of the situation. It certainly could do no harm to satisfy the old woman. “Well, maybe it would be fun, then,—if you won’t tell me of any ‘bad luck’,” and Jannet playfully shook her finger in warning.
She could see that “Grandmother,” whose name she had not been told, was pleased. Her toothless mouth widened into a smile. She laid aside her pipe, which, as Nell had said, had been filling the room with a disagreeable smoke. “Sit down,” she said. Jannet drew up a small wooden stool and held out her hand. Jan, with noble promptness, laid a fifty cent piece upon the mantel, hoping, as he told Jannet afterward, that the fortune would not scare her to death. The aged woman saw it and the dark eyes gleamed.