“You never told me about it, Ida,” said Mr. Gooch sourly. Sikes turned the money over to Baxter. “Cross her palm with it, Ollie,” said he. “What guarantee is there that we get our money’s worth?” demanded Mr. Gooch, crinkling his eyes a little as he listened to the jingle of the coins which Baxter shifted noisily from one hand to the other while Sikes was arranging the chairs in a semi-circle about the central figures. The “queen” looked hard at the speaker. “We all come into the world by chance, Mister,” she said. “We exist by chance and we are destroyed by chance. The child’s future depends on chance. I can give no guarantee. Who shall say whether I speak truly or falsely until time has given its testimony?” “A remarkably clever woman,” murmured Mr. Sage, as he seated himself. “I’d hate to hear any bad news about little Oliver October,” said Baxter anxiously. “You must accept the bad with the good, Mister. Our fortunes run over a road of many turnings, through many snares and pitfalls. Fate directs us. Each of us has a guiding star. We travel by the light it sheds. Your baby was born under his own star. His fate is known to that star.” “Hold out your hand. I’ll say in advance that I don’t believe in fortune-telling, so if you tell me anything bad it won’t make any difference. Before you begin, I guess I’ll run upstairs and see if he is still all right.” “You stay away from that baby, Oliver Baxter,” exclaimed Mrs. Grimes. “Like as not these gypsies carry all sorts of awful diseases around with ’em. Sit down, I say. I won’t have any strangers busting in and frightening that child.” “Great Scott, Serepty! You don’t call _me_ a stranger, do you?” “He don’t know you from Adam,” was the stern reply. “Or Eve, for that matter,” added Mrs. Sage, with a snicker. “I do wish, Josephine, you would remember—” “Sh! She’s ready to begin,” interrupted Baxter. The company drew their chairs closer as the coins were dropped one by one into the gypsy’s palm. She deliberately drew up her thick skirt and slipped them into a pocket of her petticoat. Then she seized one of Baxter’s hands in her own and fixed him with her brilliant, searching eyes. Silence pervaded the room. Every eye was on the dark, impassive face of the fortune-teller. Presently, after a few strange passes with her free hand, she lowered her eyes and began to study the creases in the Baxter palm. A particularly violent blast of wind roared and whistled about the corners of the house, rattling the windows in their frames and peppering the panes with a fusillade of sleet. The younger gypsy drew her shawl closer about her chin and slunk a little deeper into the chair. “A tough night on horses,” said Mr. Link, and then cleared his throat hastily. “Maybe you’d sooner be alone, Ollie,” said Mr. Sikes, considerately. “I wouldn’t be left alone with her for anything, Joe.” The gypsy began, in a deep, monotonous, rather awesome tone.