Stuart well knew when he allowed her to chaperon the automobile girls.

Mrs. Ewing had nothing to tell. All she knew was that the girls had gone out for a long walk, and, at eight o'clock, had not come back.

"Come with me, Ralph," Miss Sallie demanded. Grace and Mollie followed them.

"Don't be frightened, Mollie," Grace begged, trying to talk cheerfully, though she was trembling violently. "Rely upon Ruth and Bab to get safely out of a sc.r.a.pe."

Just as they reached the end of the street that turned into the cliff walk, Miss Sallie espied a servant of the Cartwrights running in their direction. "Stop him!" she commanded Ralph.

"Sure, mum, I am to tell you," the gardener's boy said, "the young ladies was not killed."

"Not killed!" the girls cried, in horror. Ralph took hold of Mollie's hand.

"That is what I was to say, mum," said the boy, evidently much excited.

"They is not much hurt and will be home soon."

"Take me to them, at once," ordered Miss Sallie, asking no further questions. The gardener's boy led the way.

When the party arrived, Mrs. Cartwright, still in her yachting suit, ran out to meet them. Ruth came to the door, walking a little stiffly.

Barbara followed her, and straightway begged Mollie not to cry.

"It's all over, silly little Mollie," she whispered, "and neither Ruth nor I am hurt. We are just a little scratched, and very dirty, and we want to go to bed."

"Mr. Cartwright has already had the doctor in to see us, Auntie," said Ruth. "He is in the drawing room now. We have no broken bones or strains, though my shoulders ache rather badly."

Mollie and Grace were both crying, just because there was nothing, now, for them to cry about.

Miss Sallie made Ruth sit down again, as her niece was almost too weak to stand. After listening in silence to Ruth's story, Aunt Sallie held out her hand to Mr. Cartwright. "My brother and I can never thank you, and I shall not attempt it. Ruth means all our world." Then she turned to Barbara, and gathered her in her arms. "My child," she said, "you are the bravest girl I ever knew." Miss Stuart choked, and could say no more.

"Do you remember, Bab," asked Mollie, when Barbara was safe in her own bed, "how once you said you would one day repay Ruth and Mr. Stuart for their kindness to us? Well, I think, and I know they will think, that you have kept your promise. Yes; I'm going to let her go to sleep, Miss Sallie," Mollie called back, in answer to Miss Stuart's remonstrance.

Ruth and Barbara were utterly worn out, and had been put into warm baths and rubbed down with alcohol. "I am not even going to give two such sensible girls doses of aromatic spirits of ammonia," declared the doctor, who had driven over from Mrs. Cartwright's with them and had seen the girls safely in bed. "They will be all right in a day or two,"

he a.s.sured Miss Sallie, "as soon as they get over the nervous shock."

It took six telegrams to Mr. Stuart and Mrs. Thurston to persuade them the girls were unhurt and able to remain in Newport.

CHAPTER XVII-THE FORTUNE-TELLERS

"My dears," said Mrs. Cartwright, two days after the accident, coming into the sitting-room, where Ruth and Bab were idling, "I suppose you know that you are the heroines of Newport. No one is talking about anything but your accident. You have almost put the jewel robbery out of our minds. How do you feel this morning?"

"Oh, as fit as anything," smiled Ruth, though she still looked a little pale. "I have just written a long letter to father, to a.s.sure him that I shall be well enough to play in the tournament next week."

"That is fine," declared Mrs. Cartwright. "And you, Bab?"

"There never was much the matter with me," Bab answered.

"Then you are just the girls I am looking for," said Mrs. Cartwright, clapping her hands. "You know, I asked you, Bab, to play gypsy fortune-teller at my bazaar; now I want to ask Ruth to join you.

Everyone thinks you are both laid up from your accident, and no one will suspect who you are. The plans for the bazaar are going splendidly. I think I shall make lots of money for my poor sailors. I shall have it as simple and attractive as I can-a real country fair, with booths and lemonade stands. I am going to give these jaded Newport people a taste of the simple life. Do say you will help me."

Both girls shook their heads. "We do not know how to tell fortunes,"

they protested.

"Oh, it's only fun," argued Mrs. Cartwright. "You can make up any foolishness you like as you go along. I'll show you how to run the cards, as they call it. Has either of you ever seen anyone do it?"

Bab confessed she had watched "Granny Ann." Suddenly she left her chair, and came hobbling over to Mrs. Cartwright, saying, in Granny Ann's own high-pitched, whining voice: "Lovely lady, would you know the future, grave or gay, cross my hand with a silver piece and list to what I say."

Gravely, Mrs. Cartwright extracted a dollar from her silver purse, and made the gypsy sign on Bab's outstretched hand. Barbara immediately told her such a nonsensical fortune, in a perfectly grave voice, that she and Ruth both screamed with laughter.

"You'll do, Bab," said Mrs. Cartwright. "Won't you join her, Ruth?"

"Well," said Ruth, "I never desert Mrs. Micawber these days, or, to put it plainly, Miss Bab Thurston. So I'm game."

"Thursday, then, remember, and this is Tuesday," said Mrs. Cartwright.

"I am the busiest woman in Newport, so I must run away now. You should see my house and lawn. They are full of workmen. The fair is to begin promptly at four, and will last until midnight. We shall have dancing on the lawn, but I want you girls and a few friends to come into the house after supper. When you finish playing fortune-tellers you can slip up to my room and dress. n.o.body must guess, when you come down, that you have not just arrived. Now, I positively must be off. Tell Mollie and Grace I am depending on them to act as waitresses. Gladys isn't willing to help.

She wants all her time for Harry Townsend."

"Ruth," said Aunt Sallie, the afternoon of the bazaar, "I really cannot permit you to go anywhere, looking as you do, even if you are wearing a disguise. You are too horrible!"

"Come and see Barbara," Grace called from the next room. "I am sure she must look worse. Why," she asked, laughing, "do you and Ruth want to disguise yourselves as such dreadful-looking gypsies. You might just as easily have arranged to look like young and charming ones."

"Oh, no," said Bab. "We want to look like the real thing, not like stage gypsies." Barbara had arranged to appear as much like "Granny Ann" as she possibly could. A red and yellow handkerchief was bound around her head almost to her eyebrows, her face was stained to a deep brown, with lines and heavy seams drawn over it; even her hands were made up to look old and weather beaten.

"Remember, you have never seen nor heard of these extraordinary fortune-tellers before," warned Ruth. "And don't forget, Barbara and Ruth are at home at Mrs. Ewing's, but they may feel well enough to come to the fair in the evening." Ruth caught Bab's arm, and together they made a low curtsey.

"Beautiful ones," Ruth went on, pointing to Miss Sallie, who was looking handsome in a gown of pale gray crepe, with a violet hat and sunshade, and to Mollie and Grace, who were dressed like Swiss peasant girls, "your fortunes I would like to tell before you go to the Fair. Easy it is for my wise eyes to perceive that you will be the belles and beauties of the entertainment. Now, farewell!"

The "gypsies" were to drive over early to Mrs. Cartwright's in a closed carriage. Ralph was to take Miss Sallie, Grace and Mollie in the motor car later on.

"Granny Ann" and "old Meg" slipped inside the gypsy tent before any of the guests had arrived at the bazaar. They had gazed in wonder at Mrs.

Cartwright's beautiful lawn, changed to look like a country fair. It was hung with bunting and flags, and had small tables and chairs under the trees; also a May-pole strung with long streamers of different colored ribbons. Mrs. Cartwright had planned a May-pole dance as one of the chief features of the afternoon, and Mollie and Grace were both to take part.

For the gypsies, life was a serious matter. The tent was divided by a red curtain; on a low wooden table burned a round iron pot filled with charcoal and curious odorous herbs; a pack of dirty cards lay near it.

"The cards must be dirty," argued Ruth, "or no one would believe we were the real thing in gypsies." Two rough stools stood by the table, and the only daylight shone through the tent flap. On the other side of the curtain, Mrs. Cartwright had been kinder to her gypsies. Here were a wicker couch and big chairs, where they could rest and talk; also a table for refreshments, "for," laughed Mrs. Cartwright, as she left the tent to welcome her first guests, "I have always heard that gypsies are a particularly hungry race of people."

Mrs. Cartwright's fair was a huge success. The most fashionable "set" in Newport were present, entering into the spirit of the occasion with great zest.

Gladys and Harry Townsend were seen everywhere together; but to-day there was often a third person with them, the Countess Bertouche, the woman of the gold-colored brocade, but lately introduced in Newport society.

"I believe Gladys is engaged to Harry Townsend," whispered Grace to Mollie, when she had observed Harry bending over Miss Le Baron and talking to her in a more devoted manner than usual.

"Well," retorted pretty Mollie, with a toss of her head, "I am sure I do not envy either one of them."

All afternoon the gypsy tent had been flooded with visitors. Barbara and Ruth had the time of their lives. No one recognized the two automobile girls in the aged crones who mumbled and told strange fortunes in hoa.r.s.e tones.

It was growing late, and the gypsy tent was for the time deserted. Ruth was resting on the couch in the back of the tent, while Bab sat near her, talking over their experiences of the afternoon.