The other nodded. “Onhitch Terry. Now ye watch.” Putting the flageolet to his lips, he squealed forth a sprightly air. At the first notes the pipe-clayed pony reared on his little hind-legs, and, keeping rude time, staggered through a precarious pirouette. “He can choose colors, too,” said his master, when Terry had dropped to all fours, “and add sums, and fire me a pistol, and play me a toon on bells.” “And carry me on his back, standing up,” called a treble voice above them. A barefoot girl with strange light-colored hair, and a woman in gray calico, stood on the edge of the grassy crater. “We’re campin’ in the cellar,” explained Abram,--“my little girl and my wife; she’s Madge the Seeress.” “Are you--are you,” faltered Miles, fearing to give offense--“are you--Egyptians, please?” “A descendant o’ Pharaoh,” said Abram gravely. “Born on the banks o’ the Nile. The Seeress’ll tell your fortune. Got any money?” Miles grew cautious, remembering dark tales. “No,” he said. “That is, hardly any. One twenty-cent piece and a lucky penny.” “Heard some jingle when ye clumb the fence,” objected the wizard. “That was cat--cartridges,” retorted Miles, drawing back uneasily. “For shame, Abe!” interposed the woman. “For shame! We’re not in the tent now: no need lyin’ to innocents like that.--Come here, my boy,” she said kindly. Miles climbed toward the Seeress, embarrassed and deeply disappointed. Her neat calico, her tired, honest face, smooth gray hair, and friendly eyes were a sore disillusion. Where were elf-locks and eldritch voice? He had hoped for Meg Merrilies. “Did you ever hear tell of a Pharaoh named Tucker?” she asked, taking his hand. “Me neither, and that’s my husband’s name. And if the Nile ever flowed in Sagadahoc County, it run dry ’fore my day.” She smoothed his open palm. “No one can tell fortunes, sonny, but I can tell characters. This palm’s an honest palm; so take your time, go careful, and you’ll grow to be an honest man. And a clever palm. There’s gentle blood in the veins. That always speaks out. A good head, but the heart’ll run away with it. Master power o’ friendship, few friends. I guess there’s danger ahead o’ you, but else I’m much mistaken you come o’ people fond o’ danger. You’ll do better by others than yourself--” “Are you coming to our show?” interrupted the girl. Miles turned shyly. Girls, at Admiral’s Light, were rare as horses. And though of about his own age, this was a strange little creature. Her luminous brown eyes seemed at once frank and shy; thoughtfulness in the tanned oval face was changed, by a circumflex arch of eyebrows, to a mischievous, almost elfin gravity; and her hair reminded him of oak leaves in winter, except that they were dead and dull, and this color shone exceedingly alive. “Coming to our show?” she repeated: “this afternoon, uptown?” “I can’t,” he stammered. “We’re too--We don’t go to many--many entertainments.” Madge the Seeress gave him an odd, shrewd glance of approval.