The following evening I walked out to see Mrs. Lee, curious I must own, to learn the proceedings of Betty Nares in persuading Nancy to have her fortune told.
I found Mrs. Lee as usual in her neat kitchen. She was sitting quietly there, for the business of the day was finished, and that of the evening, which consisted generally of knitting or spinning, was not yet begun. Nancy was sitting on a low stool by the side of her mother, and I thought she looked as if she had been weeping. The milk pans had been placed away, filled with their simple treasure. The chairs stood aside, the hearth was swept up, and all things looked the very abode of quiet.
The last beams of the setting sun shone through the open door, and threw a soft purple tint across the humble apartment, which was reflected by a row of brightly burnished tin pans—proofs of the industry and neatness of Nancy—which decorated the opposite wall—and—just as the last tints faded away, a cricket from some crevice in the rural hearth-stone commenced tuning his “tiny reed.”—It was the hour of peace.
Mrs. Lee began to wonder why her son had not returned. He had been absent she said, for two hours in “Huckle-berry” wood. She wished with all her heart that the season of gathering berries was over. She dreaded every day when farmer Dawkins would get out of patience with his idling, and send him home.
While she was speaking the window became darkened by some opaque body, and on looking up we recognised the head of Betty Nares. Directly the fortune-teller entered, and took a seat near the fire-place.
And now Bill came in. “Well,” he exclaimed on seeing Betty, “I’m glad you are here. Now mother do just let her tell Nancy’s fortune. She told a power of things to Lucy Harroby and Kitty Dixon, and all of ’em came true—now do, mother.”
“Don’t be a simpleton, Bill. I have no faith in such stuff.”
I looked at Nancy—she smiled faintly but said nothing.
“You don’t believe me,” said the sybil—“you won’t believe me I suppose, if I tell you that you yourself are soon to be married?” I must confess that I thought this a bold and daring assertion of Betty, and calculated to strike at the root of all her hopes of success: as Mrs. Lee was known to be scrupulously correct and reserved in her deportment, most particularly since the mysterious departure of her husband. As I expected, Betty received a look of disdain.
“You need not look so scornful, Mrs. Lee,” said Betty, “what I tell you is true, and you can’t get aside of it. And I’ll tell you more. The man you want your daughter to marry, is going to meet with a great deal of trouble in his worldly matters,—and the one you don’t wish her to have is likely to be a rich man—and more—the day you give your consent that Nancy shall marry Goodwin, a stranger from across the water will come here, and give her a dowry that shall set them both well a going in the world.”