She did not come out again for several minutes, and by that time her companions were alarmed. Not that they really believed the "fortune-woman" was an ogress, who ate children; but they did not know clearly what they did believe, and herein was the chief perplexity. If the gypsy had only been like other human beings! But that she certainly was not. Grace came out of the cottage at last. "Did you find her?" cried the girls. "Yes, but not the baskets. Where, think, she was? Sitting on the stove, muttering over some magic to top the smoke. There was her red robe, or whatever it is, on the floor, with something under it. I went up to her, and said I, 'Do you know, ma'am, where our baskets are?'--I reckon she doesn't like me. Why, girls, she glared at me like a wild tiger, and told me if I touched a hem of that red thing I'd be sorry, for she was the voice of one crying in the wilderness, and I don't know what all." "O, fie! I wouldn't have minded that," said Di. "Why didn't you go right along and take up the cloak? I'd have done it in a twinkling." "Then you may go do it, Di," retorted Grace, who thought such a scornful remark was but a poor return for her own valiant conduct. Di was dumb. "But," continued Grace, "I just feel as if those baskets were under that cloak; I do _so_." "If she eats my cookies," said Isa, "I hope they'll choke her." "There now, Gracie, what shall we do?" sighed Lucy Lane, trying to conceal her tears. "I brought three custards, and a silver teaspoon, and six slices of pound-cake; and Jane covered them up with one of ma's nice napkins. O, dear, dear, dear!" "My basket," said Judith Pitcher, "was ma's sweet little French bird's-nest, they call it, with a bird at each end for a handle. I'd starve to death and never mind it; but it's that basket that breaks my heart." "Girls, I'm going home to tell my pa to get a search-warrant, and a policeman, and a protest; see if I don't," cried Diademia, half frantic. "Di Jones, if you do," interposed Isa, "if you let on one word about this fix, you'll be turned straight out of our society. Didn't we promise secrecy till death?" "Hush!" said Grace, soothingly; "let's hunt the baskets a little longer." Accordingly they searched in all directions as long as they dared, then set their faces towards home, tired and discouraged. Lucy Lane stealthily wiped a few tears from her eyes. "Pretty doings!" whispered Di, confidentially. "_Gracie_ has got us into a curious fix." Lucy wondered how Grace could be blamed, but had not the courage to take her part; so she merely gave a little groan, which Di understood to mean, "Yes, dear; just so." Lucy was what Grace Clifford called a "yes-yes sort of girl;" she agreed with everybody. "You see now, Lucy, if Grace had said, up and down, she wouldn't go to see this horrid old witch, why, we would not have stirred a step. Grace is our queen; oughtn't she to keep us out of mischief, pray?"