“I am. We still keep up our old customs. We are real Gypsies from Romany. I will tell them all to come out and you may select whom you will.” She passed rapidly from tent to wagon, and soon a number of young women, and old, down to girls of fifteen and sixteen, appeared. Some were old women, one a veritable hag, but most of them were middle-aged, their faces dark and wrinkled, yet with the healthy color of out-of-doors, and their skin was beautifully clear. They seemed quite clean, too, and the glimpses the girls had into the tents and wagons showed them much neater than one would have imagined on hearing the word Gypsies. “Are—are these all fortune-tellers?” asked Mrs. Bonnell, after a look about the camp, as her eyes swept over the assembled group. The men did not seem to concern themselves with what was going on, and the dogs had quieted down. “All—yes, lady.” “And have you no more—no young girls?” “No, lady.” “We saw one girl—once—named Hadee—is she not with your tribe?” For an instant the Guardian was sure there passed a look between the two older Gypsy women, and then the Queen answered: “Hadee is no longer here.” “Where is she?” “We do not know, lady. Will you have your fortunes told?” and the voice was somewhat cold. Mrs. Bonnell changed her tactics at once. “We will have our fortunes told,” she said decidedly. “A different teller for each one, and it will not take so long.” “So, Hadee is missing,” whispered Natalie, as they followed the Queen toward the collection of tents. “I wonder where she can be?” “Maybe she has been arrested,” suggested Mabel, in a whisper. “We would have heard about it,” declared Alice. “More likely she has run off or been spirited away so she won’t be caught. Oh, dear! We seem doomed to failure!” “Hush!” exclaimed Marie. “We mustn’t let them know we suspect anything.” CHAPTER XXI OLD HANSON MOVES Mrs. Bonnell was sure something was wrong in the Gypsy camp. So were the girls. So much so that none of them listened with much attention to the jargon poured fourth by the various fortune tellers. There was the usual talk about how each one had had trouble—which was true enough—and that each one was to have more which, perhaps, in the nature of events, was still more true. But “all would come out well in the end;” and then, too, was talk of dark-haired strangers—and light-haired ones—of the male variety—who would play more or less havoc with hearts and minds. But through it all the girls felt sure there was an undercurrent of worriment in the camp. At times some of the men would get up and move off, accompanied by a dog or two. Some took horses with them, sitting lazily on the bare backs of the nags, cross-fashion, too slovenly, it seemed to ride astraddle, or even to throw on a sack for a saddle. Whether they rode out to do some trading, or on another errand was not disclosed.