Gold is gladsome, gold is gay,
Here to-night and gone to-day,
Here to-day and gone to-morrow,
Guest of joy and host of sorrow.
Gold of mine that’s flitted far,
Forget me not, where’er you are.
Mine you are, as Pluto wrought you,
Mine you are, whoever’s sought you,
Come by sea or come by land—
Homeward fly into my hand!
Three times Granny Ann repeated this. Then, with a queer dignity, oddly assorting with her variegated raiment, she turned to the girls. “It will return,” she said; “now, I must go to my own people.”
“But I thought you said you came here for us by yourself!” protested Mollie.
The gypsy dame drew herself up. “I travel not alone!” she said, stiffly. “Good-bye.”
“Oh, good-bye, and thanks ever so much, Granny Ann!” cried both of the girls.
But Granny Ann did not turn her head. Barbara looked at Mollie, her eyes dancing. “The blessed old fraud!” she teased; “her people decided to camp somewhere about, and she thought she’d come over for a call and a lunch, and whatever else she could get! I believe she actually expected us to cross her palm with silver for saying that little rhyme. But I wish I knew really——”
All at once a faint chug-chug sounded in the distance. In a moment a big red touring car appeared, enveloped in dust. “Why, it looks like Ruth’s car!” exclaimed Mollie, excitedly. “Yes, I do believe that young man seated beside the chauffeur is the Mr. Townsend who was with them. Barbara——”
But Barbara was walking quickly toward the gate. A moment later the automobile stopped before it, and Harry Townsend stepped out.
“Miss Thurston,” he began, soberly, “have you lost any money?”
“Oh, yes!” burst out Mollie, who was just behind, before Barbara could speak; “two twenty-dollar gold-pieces! We’ve hunted and hunted. We had them this afternoon——”