“T. T.,” replied Jean.
The woman looked serious. “Let me see your hand,” she said.
“But it has nothing to do with me,” insisted Jean. “And I have to hurry back, or I shall be late.”
“Can’t you induce the girl to come to me?” the pretender asked.
“I am afraid not,” said Jean. “She is not a friend of mine.”
“Then I will tell you this. If you come to me any time before nightfall I will look into my ball, and find out what you want to know. It never fails.”
Jean ran off without replying. If she should be late!
So many things seemed to detain her. There was that cripple paper-boy. She had to take his paper, and wait for change. Then, at the little bridge, there was the cowboy with his cows, and they were so slow in crossing. After all it was a very nervous thing to do, to disobey rules. She would not risk it again.
The bell rang as she turned into the gate. She was breathless, and could not hide her confusion. Cologne had been out getting some berries. She saw Jean, and, Jean thought, looked at her rather suspiciously. That is the price of wrong-doing—always suspecting others.
“Hello! there!” called out Cologne defiantly. “Been out doing nature-work?”