“Yes, I suppose they have good and evil among them as have other communities, but it is the general belief that gypsies are not trustworthy.”
“Which of those women is the fortune-teller?”
“Neither of those. I do not see her. She must be in one of the tents.”
“Is she handsome?”
“Handsome! She is gray and wrinkled, and toothless and swarthy, cross-grained and disagreeable in every way. Phew!” grimaced Fred, at the remembrance of the prophetess.
“She did not please you in your fortune, I think,” laughed Hilda.
“She was not very clever to me, that is certain. Jack Prettyman gave her the largest fee, and is to marry a rich and beautiful girl and live in Europe.”
“What did she tell you?”
“She paid me a few compliments, which no doubt I deserve. She caught me mimicking her, and I never saw such a look of malignant hate as crossed her ugly face.”
“Had you no faith in her predictions, then?”