lac bushes.

"What handsome faces they have," she said, "so dark and wild. And
their lives are so free--grandfather says they just roam around from
place to place, living in the woods and picking up a little money here
and there. He says their camp is just outside, and when he was driving
yesterday, he saw one of them playing and asked them if they wouldn't
come here to-day."

When the gipsies had finished they rose and went down the path towards
the gate. They were talking and laughing with a vivacious play of
feature and a recklessness of gesture that proclaimed them the
unconscious children of nature.

"How I wish I could go with them," said Judy, impulsively, as the young
leader of the band took off his hat and waved them a debonair
"good-bye." "How I wish I could go!"

But Launcelot shook his head. "It's all very romantic from the
outside," he said, "but the women don't have a very good time. They
tramp the dusty roads in summer and almost freeze in their open wagons
in the winter, and they bear most of the burdens. Those men are
handsome, all right, but some of them are brutes."

As he spoke the leader of the band came back up the path.

"Come to our camp, pretty lady," he said, flashing his dark eyes upon
Judy, "and our queen will tell your fortune. For a piece of silver she
will tell you the things that are past and the things that are to come."

"Oh, will she?" asked Judy, eagerly. "Will you be at the camp next
Saturday?"

"We will be there until you come," said the gipsy with a glance of
admiration at her vivid face.

But Launcelot's hand was clenched at his side. He did not like that
fellow's face or his manner, he told himself, and Judy should not go
near that camp if he could help it.

"You don't want to have your fortune told, Judy," he said, a little
roughly.

Judy's eyebrows went up in surprise. "I do," she said. "It's fun."

"It's silly," contended Launcelot, doggedly.

The gipsy's eyes flashed from one to the other.

"You will come," he urged, ignoring Launcelot, and addressing his
question to Judy.

"Yes."

"On Saturday?"

"Yes."

"Good; we will welcome you, pretty lady." And with a defiant glance at
the big angry boy, the dark Hungarian swung down the path, singing as
he went.

"You are not going," said Launcelot, when the man was out of sight.

"I am."

"Then I shall tell the Judge."

"Telltale."

Launcelot stood up and glowered at her.

"Who do you th