“Why I—er—I guess I didn’t fasten the door,” said Catherine uncomfortably. “One of our cows got in during the night and ate so much corn she died. But I never said Roger Calendar left the door open—when my father asked me if any of the boys had been to the corncrib, I said Roger had. He had been there—that was the truth. He helped my aunt fix the strings for one of the party games.”
The gypsy drew a long breath.
“That’s why I couldn’t tell your fortune,” she announced. “You can’t have any fortune, unless you tell what really happened. Tell your father.”
“Oh, I couldn’t!” said Catherine hastily. “He’d be so cross. I can’t bear to have people cross with me. Besides, I’m not sure I did leave the door open. Perhaps Roger went to the corncrib after I did.”
The gypsy leaned down again and pressed something into Catherine’s hand.
“There’s your dime,” she said softly. “I haven’t told your fortune. I can’t find any for you.”
“Well, all right, I’ll go buy another grab bag,” Catherine retorted, a little angrily. “You won’t tell what I’ve told you, will you. I guess you won’t, because you don’t know anyone to tell. And no one would believe what a strange gypsy says, if I say it isn’t true, anyway.”
Other people were eager to have their fortunes told and as soon as Catherine went out, her dime clutched tightly in her hand, another took her place. And by five o’clock, when the fair was practically over, and Miss Owen said the gypsy must come and have some ice cream, there was almost fifty dollars in the money box in the tent. That didn’t mean five hundred people had had their fortunes told—dear no. Many folk left extra money because they knew it was going to be used for poor boys and girls, to give them a happy Christmas.
“I’m sure you’re all interested in our gypsy princess,” said Miss Owen, when the fortune-teller came out of her tent, “and I think I’ll have to introduce you—to Miss Elizabeth Ann Loring and her assistant, Doris Mason; this was entirely Elizabeth Ann’s idea and I think she has managed it very cleverly.”