"No one can enter here who doesn't submit to the will of the gipsy,"

remarked Caranina in her clear and beautiful voice. "This is my tent, and I tell the fortunes of all those kind ladies and gentlemen who will permit me to do so."

"Then you shall tell mine, with pleasure, little maid," said Mr.

Cardew, who felt wonderfully cheered and entertained at this _al fresco_ amus.e.m.e.nt.

Quick as thought Maggie had been presented with a silver coin. With this she crossed the good gentleman's palm, and murmured a few words with regard to his future. There was nothing whatever remarkable in her utterance, for Maggie knew nothing of palmistry, and was only a very pretense gipsy fortune-teller. But she was quick--quicker than most--in reading character; and as she glanced now into Mr. Cardew's face an inspiration seized her.

"He is troubled about something," thought the girl. "It's the thin end of the wedge; I'll push it in a little farther."

Her voice dropped to a low tone. "I see in your hand, kind sir," she said, "all happiness, long life, and prosperity; but I also see a little cross, just here--" she pointed with her pretty finger--"and it means self-sacrifice for the sake of a great and lasting good. Kind sir, I have nothing more to add."

Mr. Cardew left the tent and sat down beside the rector and his wife.

Maggie's words were really unimportant. As one after the other the merry group of actors went to have their fortunes told he paid no attention whatever to them. Gipsy fortune-tellers always mixed a little sorrow with their joyful tidings. It was a bewitching little gipsy after all. He could not quite make out her undefined charm, but he was interested in her; and after a time, when the fortune-telling had come to an end and Maggie was about to change her dress for what they called the evening revels, he crossed the field and stood near her.

"So you, Miss Howland, have been telling my daughter Merry a good many things with regard to your new school?"

She raised her queer, bright eyes, and looked him full in the face. "I have told Merry a few things," she said; "but, most of all, I have a.s.sured her that Aylmer House is the happiest place in the world."

"Happier than home? Should you say it was happier than home, Miss Howland?"

"Happier than my home," said Maggie with a little sigh, very gentle and almost imperceptible, in her voice. "Oh, I love it!" she continued with enthusiasm; "for it helps--I mean, the life there helps--to make one good."

Mr. Cardew said nothing more. After a time he bade his friends good-by and returned to Meredith Manor. In course of time the little pony-carriage was sent down to the rectory for the Cardew girls, who went back greatly elated.

How delightful their evening had been, and what a marvelous girl Maggie Howland was.'

"Why, she even manages to subdue and to rule those really tiresome boys," said Cicely.

"Yes," remarked Merry, "she is like no one else."

"You have quite fallen in love with her, haven't you, Merry?"

"Well, perhaps I have a little bit," said Merry. She looked thoughtful. She longed to say to Cicely, "How I wish beyond all things on earth that I were going to the same school!" But a certain fidelity to her father kept her silent.

She was startled, therefore, when Cicely herself, who was always supposed to be much calmer than Merry, and less vehement in her desires, clasped her sister's hand and said with emphasis, "I don't know, after all, if it is good for us to see too much of Maggie Howland."

"Why, Cissie? What do you mean?"

"I mean this," said Cicely: "she makes me--yes, I will say it--discontented."

"And me too," said Merry, uttering the words with an emphasis which astonished herself.

"We have talked of school over and over again," said Cicely, "with Molly and Belle; but notwithstanding their glowing accounts we have been quite satisfied with Miss Beverley, and dear, gray-haired Mr.

Bennett, and Mr. Vaughan; but now I for one, don't feel satisfied any longer." "Nor do I," said Merry.

"Oh Merry!"

"It is true," said Merry. "I want to go to Aylmer House."

"And I am almost mad to go there," said Cicely.

"I'll tell you something, Cissie. I spoke to father about it to-day."

"Merry! you didn't dare?"

"Well, I just did. I couldn't help myself. It is hateful to be under-educated, and you know we shall never be like other girls if we don't see something of the world."

"He didn't by any chance agree with you?" said Cicely.

"Not a bit of it," said Merry. "We must bear with our present life, only perhaps we oughtn't to see too much of Maggie Howland."

"Well," said Cicely, "I've something to tell you, Merry."

"What's that?"

"You don't know just at present why mother and I went to Warwick this morning?"

"No," said Merry, who was rather uninterested. "I had a very good time with Maggie, and didn't miss you too dreadfully."

"Well, you will be interested to know why we did go, all the same,"

said Cicely. "It's because Miss Beverley is knocked up and can't teach us any more, and Mr. Bennett is going to London. Mother can't hear of anyone to take Miss Beverley's place, or of any music-teacher equal to Mr. Bennett; so, somehow or other, I feel that there are changes in the air. Oh Merry, Merry! suppose----"

"There's no use in it," said Merry. "Father will never change. We'll get some other dreadfully dull daily governess, and some other fearfully depressing music-master, and we'll never be like Molly and Belle and Maggie and our cousin Aneta. It does seem hard."

"We must try not to be discontented," said Cicely.

"Then we had best not ask Maggie here too often," replied Merry.

"Oh, but they're all coming up to-morrow morning, for I have asked them," said Cicely.

"Dear, dear!" replied Merry.

"We may as well have what fun we can," remarked Cicely, "for you know we shall be going to the seaside in ten days."

CHAPTER VIII.

MRS. WARD'S SCHOOL.

It is to be regretted that Mr. Cardew spent a restless night. Mrs.

Cardew, on the contrary, slept with the utmost peace. She trusted so absolutely in her husband's judgment and in in his power to do the very best he could on all possible occasions for her and hers that she was never deeply troubled about anything. Her dear husband must not be forced to live in London if he did not like to do so, and some arrangement must be made for the girls' home education if he could not see his way to sending them to school.

Great, therefore, was her astonishment on the following morning when he came hastily into her room.

"My dear," he said, "I am off to London for the day."