Then Taisy broke down and fairly sobbed. Mamma got up and came round to her.
'My dearest child,' she said, 'what is the matter? It has something to do with your grandmother's letter, I can see. Do you dislike this boy—what is his name—oh yes, Rolf—Rolf Dacre—that she writes about?'
'Oh no, no, indeed. He is a very nice boy, as nice as he can be,' Taisy replied, amidst her tears. 'It isn't that at all. It's—it's about the gypsy—the saying it like a prophecy—it wasn't right. I—I shouldn't have done it, but I thought it was no harm, only fun;' and she began sobbing again.
For a moment or two mamma and I stared at each other, as if we thought Taisy was losing her wits. Then gradually light began to break in upon us.
"You shouldn't have done it," you say, dear,' mamma repeated. 'Do you mean—can you mean——'
Taisy nodded.
'Yes,' she said; 'you have guessed it, I see. But please do not be angry with me. I meant no harm.'
'Then you were the gypsy,' mamma exclaimed, as if she could scarcely believe it.
'And,' I added, 'the little boy was—oh, he was Esmé, I suppose. That was why she was looking so queer at breakfast.'
'Was she?' said Taisy, 'I didn't notice. Yes, she was the little boy. I did not mean to mix her up in it, but she came poking about when the boys were helping me to dress up, and we thought the best way to keep her quiet was for her to join in it. But, auntie—I was going to tell you all about it to-day—you believe me, don't you?' and she lifted such an appealing, tear-stained face to mamma, that mamma could not help patting it reassuringly and kissing her.