“What is it, darlin’?”
Harriet whispered in Jane’s ear. Crazy Jane uttered a loud laugh.
“Sh-h-h!” warned the guardian. “You will betray our hiding place to those boys.”
“I must get word to Sybarina. I wish she would come over here,” mused Harriet.
As though in answer to her wish, Sybarina rose and hobbled toward the wagon. She halted at the step without looking up.
“The friends of the pretty ladies are here. What do the pretty ladies wish to do?”
“Oh, Sybarina! I want to read the future for that boy yonder on the right, the one with the reddish hair. May I? Please let me.”
“It shall be as the Romany girl wishes, but she must be grave, she must not make her real self known to the laughing boy.”
“No, no, no! I promise not to betray my identity. But what shall I say? I don’t know what to say,” begged Harriet.
“The words will come unbidden to the lips of the Romany girl. Fear not. Come.” There was a suspicion of a twinkle in the piercing black eyes as Sybarina stretched forth her hand to Harriet Burrell. Harriet’s heart thumped violently as she stepped down from the wagon. “If I get a chance to read George Baker’s palm I will make him stand as near to the wagon as possible, so you girls can hear what I say to him, but don’t you dare make a sound.”