The Outdoor Girls on Pine Island | Page 5

under the trees. They
stopped short and gazed upon this spectacle.
"And she's not eating chocolates either," remarked Amy in an
awe-struck voice. "What can have happened?"
"I wish you would stop gazing at me like that," said Grace, raising her
head and looking at the three girls who were still regarding her fixedly.
"Is it my hair, or is my nose red, or is it my skirt that's too tight? Please
tell me and get it over with. I can stand anything but this suspense."
"A miracle has taken place--the impossible has happened!" cried Betty,
striking a theatrical pose. "Never again will I doubt the wisdom of
those so learned----"
"What is she raving about, girls, do you know?" asked Grace
plaintively. "She never used to be like this."
"It's the shock, that's all," interpreted Mollie. "Never mind, Betty," she
added soothingly. "You will get used to it in time."
"Amy, you're the only sane one in that crowd," cried Grace in
desperation. "Will you kindly explain what those two lunatics are
talking about--if they know themselves!" This last was uttered so
vindictively that the girls came down from rhetorical heights with a
bounce.

"Oh," laughed Betty, running up to Grace and giving her a hug. "You
must really forgive us, Grace dear, we just couldn't help it--you
reformed so suddenly, you know."
"Reformed?" said Grace, still mystified, while she made room for the
other girls in the hammock. "What do you mean--'reformed'? I didn't
know I needed to."
"Listen to the child," mocked Mollie. "Why, don't you know, Grace,
that there isn't one of us that doesn't need a lot of reforming?"
"Speak for yourself, Mollie Billette," remarked Grace, a trifle shortly,
for her natural good temper was becoming ruffled under the continued
teasing.
"Now, please, girls," said Betty, fearing a storm, "don't let's quarrel,
whatever we do. We were only surprised to see you up so early, Grace,
that's all. But now I'm mighty glad you are, because we'll have a chance
for a nice long talk. What time do you suppose it is now?"
"It was nearly ten when I came out of the house," Grace replied,
placated by the Little Captain's tactful changing of the subject. "Can't
you all stay to lunch? Then we can make a good long day of it."
The girls took a walk about town before lunch, just to "be sure of an
appetite," as Amy said. During the tramp they met Roy Anderson, an
old boy friend.
"Are you doing anything particular this afternoon?" he wanted to know,
and upon the girls replying in the negative, asked if he might bring
some of the other boys around. "We have made a discovery!" he
shouted after them. "We'll tell you about it when we see you."
And so, the noon meal over, the girls strolled out on the lawn again and
waited eagerly for what the boys might have to tell them.
They had not long to wait--in fact they had barely had time to settle
themselves in the comfortable chairs, when along the road came--not

the boys, but a ragged, bent, old woman, leaning heavily on a twisted
stick for support. Instead of going straight on, as the girls had expected
she would do, the old woman turned in at the drive and made straight
for them.
"What shall we do? Shall we go in the house?" whispered Grace to
Betty. "I don't like her looks very much, do you?"
"She isn't particularly beautiful," Betty telegraphed back. "But she can't
possibly do us any harm. Let's wait and see what she has to say."
As the old hag drew nearer, the girls instinctively shrank back in their
chairs. And, indeed, she was not a prepossessing figure. Her head was
bound about with an old red handkerchief, tied under the wrinkled chin
and framing a face seamed and crisscrossed with a million wrinkles. An
old, tattered shawl covered her bent shoulders, and the hand that
grasped the knotted stick was claw-like and emaciated. Her eyes were
the only part of her that seemed to retain some semblance of youth.
They were little and beady and exceedingly keen, so that when she
raised them to Betty's young face, that staunch little captain felt that she
would almost rather be anywhere else than there beneath the trees with
the searching eyes of the old crone fixed upon her.
"What do you want?" Betty gasped, trying to make her voice calm and
steady, but with little success.
"I won't hurt you, pretty ladies," said the old woman, divining their
repugnance and half-fear and desiring to placate them. "Won't you have
your fortunes told? Only twenty-five cents, and I can tell you of your
past and as much as you will of your future. Only a quarter,