The supposed gipsy shook her head slowly.
“It makes no difference what they thought. The deed is done. There is only one way in which the wrong can be righted.”
“How can these boys square themselves with the girls?” questioned George eagerly.
“I will consult the Oracle.” The Gipsy girl stood with head bent as though in deep thought. Then she said solemnly: “If the wicked boys will go to those whom they have so cruelly wronged and ask pardon for their unmanly behavior perhaps forgiveness may be theirs.”
“I—I guess I’d better,” returned George earnestly. At this juncture a smothered giggle from the darkened Gipsy wagon came near breaking up the seance. He glanced up suspiciously. Harriet’s face was grave.
“You have chosen wisely. Will you obey the command of the Oracle?”
“Oh, ye—es. I’ll apologize. I’ll do it. It’s wonderful. I never thought there was so much to fortune telling.”
“There is more to it than you dream,” answered Harriet Burrell, and with much truth on her side. There was indeed more to it than Captain George Baker dreamed. In the Gipsy wagon four girls and their guardian were making desperate efforts to control their laughter that the sounds of their merriment might not be heard by the young man outside.
“Can you answer any question I ask you?” queried George, after thinking deeply.
“The Oracle knows all things, if it will but speak,” answered the Gipsy girl, leaving an avenue of escape if he should ask her something that she was unable to answer.