Part 34 (1/2)

”Taking them all in a heap, I will give sixpence apiece,” replied the gipsy.

Mr. Leeson uttered a scream.

”You have outdone yourself, my good woman,” he said. ”Do you think I am going to give fowls that will make such delicious and nouris.h.i.+ng food away for that trivial sum? My little daughter is a very clever cook, and I shall instruct her with regard to the serving up of the remainder of my poultry. If you will not give me the recipe I must ask you to go.”

The gipsy pretended to be extremely angry.

”I won't go,” she said, ”unless you allow me to tell you your fortune; I won't stir, and that's flat.”

”I do not believe in gipsy fortune-tellers. I shall have to call the police if you do not leave my establishment immediately.”

”And how will you manage when you don't ever leave your own grounds? I am thinking it may be you are a bit afraid. People who stick so close to home often have a reason.”

This remark frightened Mr. Leeson very much. He was always in terror lest some one would guess that he kept his treasure on the premises.

”Look here,” he said, raising his voice. ”You see before you the poorest man for my position in the whole of England; it is with the utmost difficulty that I can keep soul and body together. Observe the place; observe the house. Do you think I should care for a recipe to make old fowls tender if I were not in very truth a most poverty-stricken person?”

”I will tell you if you show me your palm,” said the gipsy.

Now, Mr. Leeson was superst.i.tious. It was the last thing he credited himself with, but nevertheless he was. The gipsy, with her dancing black eyes, looked full at him. He had a shadowy, almost a fearful idea that he had seen that face before-he could not make out when. Then it occurred to him that this was the very face that had bent over him for an instant the night before when he was coming back from his fit of unconsciousness. Oh, it was impossible that the gipsy could have been here then! Had he seen her in a sort of vision? He felt startled and alarmed. The gipsy kept watching him; she seemed to be reading him through and through.

”I saw you in a dream,” she said. ”And I know you will show your hand; and I know I have things to tell you, both good and bad.”

”Well, well!” said Mr. Leeson, ”here is sixpence. Tell me your gibberish, and then go.”

The gipsy looked twice at the coin.

”It is a poor one,” she said. ”But them who is rich always give the smallest.”

”I am not rich, I tell you.”

”They who are rich find it hardest to part with their pelf. But I will take it.”

”I will give you a s.h.i.+lling if you'll go. But it is hard for a very poor man to part with it.”

”Sixpence will do,” said the gipsy, with a laugh. ”Give it me. Now show me your palm.”

She pretended to look steadily into the wrinkled palm of the miser's hand, and then spoke.

”I see here,” she said, ”much wealth. Yes, just where this cross lies is gold. I also see poverty. I also see a very great loss and a judgment.”

”Go!” screamed the angry man. ”Do not tell me another word.”

He dashed into the house in absolute terror, and banged the hall door after him.

”I said I would give him a fright,” said Jasper to herself. ”Well, if he don't touch another morsel till Miss Sylvia comes home late to-night, he won't die after my dinner. Ah, the poor old hen! I must get her out of the basket now or she will be suffocated.”

The gipsy walked slowly down the path, let herself out by the front entrance, walked round to the back, got in once more, and handed the old hen to a boy who was standing by the hedge.

”There,” she said. ”There's a present for you. Take it at once and go.”