“Well,” mused Baxter, “the only really unpleasant thing that’s going to happen to Oliver October, far as I can make out, is that he’s going to look exactly like me. That _is_ purty rough, ain’t it, Mrs. Sage?” “At any rate,” said she, “he will have the satisfaction of being unmistakably recognized as a wise son.” The gypsies were preparing to depart. Their shifty eyes wandered over the heads of the company, taking in the meager contents of the room. There was a pleased leer on the lips of the younger of the two. Mr. Baxter arose. “Taking it by and large, Queen,” he said, “I guess you took us all in purty neatly. I ain’t blaming you. It’s your business to pick out the easiest kind of fools and then soak it to ’em.” The “queen” drew herself erect and gave him a look that would have done credit to the most regal personage in the world. “Would you offer insult to the queen of the gypsies?” she demanded coldly. “It ain’t insulting you, is it, to call ourselves fools?” For answer, outraged royalty reached into her pocket and drew out the silver. “I could throw your accursed silver into your face,” she almost shouted. As she drew back her arm as if to carry out the threat, her wrist was seized by her companion, who whispered fiercely in her ear. “No, no!” the “queen” answered, “I will not do as you say, Magda. I will not be cruel. Let the fool be happy while he may. I have been kind to him. He jeers at me because I have stopped when I might have gone on and told him the dreadful things—” “Tell him!” cried the other. “Tell him everything.” “Open the door, Joe!” commanded Baxter. “Get out, both of you.” The “queen” turned on him furiously. “Stay! I am about to tell you all that I saw in the hand of that baby’s father.” Her eyes were hard and cruel, her voice raised in anger. “You scoff at me. For that you shall have the truth. All that I have told you will come true. But I did not tell you of the end that I saw for him. Hark ye! This son of yours will go to the gallows. He will swing from the end of a rope.” She was now speaking in a high shrill voice; her hearers sat open-mouthed, as if under a spell that could not be shaken off. “It is all as plain as the noonday sun. He will never reach the age of thirty. All good fortune will desert him in the last year of his life. The very first vision I had when I took your hand was the sight of a young man swinging in the air with a rope around his neck. A solemn group of men look on. They watch him swing to and fro. He jerks and writhes and then at last is still. That is all. That is the end. I have spoken the truth. You forced me to do so. I go. Come, Magda!” They were nearing the door before the silence caused by this staggering revelation was shattered by Mr. Sikes, who was the first to recover from the momentary paralysis that had gripped the entire company. The burly feed store proprietor, superstitious but far from sentimental, sprang forward and intercepted the two women.