daintily out of the tent. "I should think, as a witch, your cat ought to
be black," said Miss Greeby. Mother Cockleshell screeched like a
night-owl and hastily pattered some gypsy spell to avert evil. "Why, the
old devil is black," she cried. "And why should I have him in my house
to work evil? This is my white ghost." Her words were accompanied by a
gentle stroking of the cat. "And good is what she brings to my
roof-tree. But I don't eat from white dishes, or drink from white mugs.
No! No! That would be too witchly."

Miss Greeby mused. "I have heard something about these gypsy
superstitions before," she remarked meditatively.

"Avo! Avo! They are in a book written by a great Romany Rye. Leland is
the name of that rye, a gypsy Lee with Gentile land. He added land to
the lea as he was told by one of our people. Such a nice gentleman,
kind, and free of his money and clever beyond tellings, as I always
says. Many a time has he sat pal-like with me, and 'Gentilla,' says he,
'your're a bori chovihani'; and that, my generous lady, is the gentle
language for a great witch."

"Chaldea said that you were that," observed Miss Greeby carelessly.

"The child speaks truly. Come, cross my hand, sweet lady."

Miss Greeby passed along half a crown. "I only desire to know one
thing," she said, offering her palm. "Shall I get my wish?"

Mother Cockleshell peered into the hands, although she had already made
up her mind what to say. Her faculties, sharpened by years of chicanery,
told her from the look which Miss Greeby had given when Lambert followed