n the marquee, but when the tunnel
stopped, we were in a narrow alley between tall green bushes, set so
thickly and so close together that we couldn't see what was on the
other side. Above us, instead of the canvas roof of the marquee (which
must have been over all), a violet mist seemed to float, with a very
faint, soft light filtering through it, like blue moonlight. I suppose
it must have been ever and ever so many thicknesses of blue gauze, with
shaded lights hanging above, but the effect was mysterious and
alluring.

We had only gone on a little way when we arrived at a tiny house built
apparently of red flowers; and there was a red light coming out of the
one little window. "The Witch of the Woods Lives Here," said a card on
the door.

We pushed, and inside was a room, with a young woman in white,
crystal-gazing as hard as she could. She had also a velvet cushion on
which you laid your hand, and she told your character and your fortune.
Some people in historical dress were ready to come out just as we were
going in, and one of them said, "It's Madame Cortelyn. Mrs.
Stuyvesant-Knox must have given her at least five hundred dollars or
she wouldn't have come a step."

We had our hands done, and the Witch of the Woods told me that I had
come from "across the water," but that I would marry a man on this
side; and then she saw some one in the crystal who looked so exactly
like Potter Parker, that I wished I had stopped outside her red house.

After this, we kept losing ourselves in different green-walled paths,
and suddenly coming on booths where variety entertainments were going
on; or funny cardboard pagodas, where celebrated Japanese artists did
your portrait in five minutes on rice paper; or silk tents with
conjuring shows. And there was a place where you fished in a small
round pond with magnets and caught little metal frogs with jewels in
their heads, which you picked out. Farther on was a miniature Eastern
bazaar where girls in gauze danced, while you drank Turkish coffee and
pushed spoonfuls of sherbet under the lace on your mask. And there was
a kinematograph entertainment of a bull fight, which I wouldn't look
at, and some martyrs being reluctantly eaten by lions; and Otero
dancing.

All the masked people we met were enjoying themselves very much, and
saying this was the best thing for years. And it really was fun, but at
last I thought we must have seen it all, and I wanted to go out.
Besides, I was ti