The next day a gipsy fortune-teller came to Peach Orchard, and told the fortunes of all the servants. She predicted a rich husband for Katie, and a fit of sickness for Mary. I think she could not have pleased each better. That night we were sitting in the Angel's porch-study, when the most dreadful howls and groans began to emanate from the kitchen. We all hurried to the scene, and there, prone upon the floor, lay Mary, weeping and twitching herself and moaning that she was going to die. "It's the fortune-teller," said Katie in my ear. But Aubrey heard. "Get up, Mary!" he said, sternly. (I did not know the Angel _could_ be so stern.) To the surprise of all of us, Mary obediently scrambled to her feet. "Now go to your room, and go properly to bed. Katie will help you. Then I shall telephone for the doctor." Mary began to look frightened. "Don't send for the doctor, Boss dear," she pleaded. "I'll be better soon. These attacks don't mean anything." "The gipsy predicted that you were going to have a fit of sickness, and I believe it has come," said Aubrey, seriously. "Take her to bed quickly, Katie. I don't want her to die in the kitchen." The two old women stumbled up the back stairway together. "Oh, Aubrey, what is it?" I whispered. "It is the breaking up of Mary," said the Angel when we were alone. "It has been going on for some time. Either jealousy, or old age, or imagination, or incipient insanity has seized our poor old servant-friend, and well-nigh wrecked her. I have tried various remedies, but all have failed. I didn't want to bother you with it before, but the fact is, Faith dear, Mary must go. She has outlived her usefulness with us." "I've been afraid of it for some time," I answered. "But it seems too bad. She has been with us through some strenuous times, Aubrey." "I know, dear, and I have no idea of turning the old creature adrift. The last time I was in town I spoke to Doctor North and arranged to send Mary to his sanatorium for a month." "You are good, Aubrey." Aubrey smoked in silence for a few moments. "Yes, Mary has been with us through deep waters and hard fights, and never has she flinched. Perhaps it is her nature. Perhaps she just can't stand the lameness of prosperity." In a day or two we sent Mary to Doctor North's sanatorium, a badly scared and deeply repentant old woman, and Aubrey wired Doctor North: "Is this a genuine case, or is she faking?" The answer came back: "Faking." Poor Mary! She escaped from the sanatorium on the third day. But we never saw her again, and though we often write to her and send her things, she never answers. I think it was the "Polean pitcher." CHAPTER XIV AND THEY LIVED HAPPY EVER AFTER End of the story--end of the chapter--end of the book!