e children, she cheered up, wiped away her tears, and allowed
laughter once more to wreathe her lips and fill her eyes. "Come, Nan,"
she said, "you and I will have such a race."

She placed the child on her shoulder, clasped the little hands securely
round her neck, and ran to the sound of Nan's shouts down the shady walk.

At the farther end Nan suddenly tightened her clasp, drew herself up,
ceased to laugh, and said with some fright in her voice:

"Who dat?"

Annie, too, stood still with a sudden start, for the gypsy woman, Mother
Rachel, was standing directly in their path.

"Go 'way, naughty woman," said Nan, shaking her small hand imperiously.

The gypsy dropped a low courtesy, and spoke in a slightly mocking tone.

"A pretty little dear," she said. "Yes, truly now, a pretty little
winsome dear; and oh, what shoes! and little open-work socks! and I don't
doubt real lace trimming on all her little garments--I don't doubt it a
bit."

"Go 'way--me don't like 'oo," said Nan. "Let's wun back--gee, gee," she
said, addressing Annie, whom she had constituted into a horse for the
time being.

"Yes, Nan; in one minute," said Annie. "Please, Mother Rachel, what are
you doing here?"

"Only waiting to see you, pretty missie," replied the tall gypsy. "You
are the dear little lady who crossed my hand with silver that night in
the wood. Eh, but it was a bonny night, with a bonny bright moon, and
none of the dear little ladies meant any harm--no, no, Mother Rachel
knows that."

"Look here," said Annie, "I'm not going to be afraid of you. I have no
more silver to give you. If you like, you may go up to the house and tell
what you have seen. I am very unhappy, and whether you tell or not can
make very little difference to me now. Good-night; I am not the least
afraid of you--you can do just as you please about telling Mrs. Willis."

"Eh, my dear?" said the gypsy; "do you think I'd work you any harm--you,
and the seven other dear little ladies? No, not for the world, my
dear--not for the world. You don't know Mother Rachel when you think
she'd be that mean."

"Well, don't come here again," said Annie. "Good-night."

She turned on her heel, and Nan shouted back:

"Go way, naughty woman--Nan don't love 'oo, 'tall, 'tall."

The gypsy stood still for a moment with a frown knitting her brows; then
she slowly turned, and, creeping on all-fours through the underwood,
climbed the hedge into the field beyond.

"Oh, no," sh