"That's rather a queer girl, that niece," said Tod. "She won't speak to one: she's like a frightened hare." "I like her," said Anna. "I feel very sorry for her. She gives one the idea of having been always put upon: and she looks dreadfully ill." "I should say she has been kept in some Blue Beard's cupboard, amongst a lot of hanging wives that have permanently scared her," remarked Bill. "It's Cattledon," said Tod; "it's not the wives. She puts upon the girl and frightens her senses out of her. Cattledon's a cross-grained, two-edged----" He had to shut up: Janet Carey was coming in again. For about five minutes no one spoke. There seemed to be nothing to say. Bill played at ball with Miss Deveen's red penwiper: Anna began turning over the periodicals: Helen gave the cat a box when it would have jumped on her knee. "Well, this is lively!" cried Tod. "Nothing on earth to do; I wonder why the rain couldn't have kept off till to-morrow?" "I say," whispered Helen, treason sparkling from her bright eyes, "let us have up that old fortune-teller! I'll go and ask Lettice." She whirled out of the room, shutting the tail of her black silk dress in the door, and called Lettice. A few minutes, and Mrs. Ness came in, curtsying. A stout old lady in a cotton shawl and broad-bordered cap with a big red bow tied in front. "I say, Mrs. Ness, can you tell our fortunes?" cried Bill. "Bless you, young gentlefolks, I've told a many in my time. I'll tell yours, if you like to bid me, sir." "Do the cards tell true?" "I believe they does, sir. I've knowed 'em to tell over true now and again--more's the pity!" "Why do you say more's the pity?" asked Anna. "When they've fortelled bad things, my sweet, pretty young lady. Death, and what not." "But how it must frighten the people who are having them told!" cried Anna. "Well, to speak the truth, young gentlefolks, when it's very bad, I generally softens it over to 'em--say the cards is cloudy, or some'at o' that," was the old woman's candid answer. "It don't do to make folks uneasy." "Look here," said Helen, who had been to find the cards, "I should not like to hear it if it's anything bad." "Ah, my dear young lady, I don't think _you_ need fear any but a good fortune, with that handsome face and them bright eyes of yours," returned the old dame--who really seemed to speak, not in flattery, but from the bottom of her heart. "I don't know what the young lords 'ud be about, to pass _you_ by." Helen liked that; she was just as vain as a peacock, and thought no little of herself. "Who'll begin?" asked she. "Begin yourself, Helen," said Tod. "It's sure to be something good." So she shuffled and cut the cards as directed: and the old woman, sitting at the table, spread them out before her, talking a little bit to herself, and pointing with her finger here and there.