enced a conversation in the hearing of the others who were
sitting drinking and smoking.

"Well, I never will believe it--it's all cheat and trickery," said
Melchior, "and they only do it to pick your pocket. Tell your fortune,
indeed! I suppose she promised you a rich wife and half-a-dozen
children."

"No, she did not," replied I, "for I am too young to marry; but she told
me what I know has happened."

"Well, what was that?"

"Why, she told me that my mother had married again, and turned me out of
doors to work for my bread."

"But she might have heard that."

"How could she? No, that's not possible; but she told me I had a mole on
my knee, which was a sign of luck. Now how could she know that?"

"Well, I grant that was odd--and pray what else did she promise you?"

"Why, she said, that I should meet with my dearest friend to-night. Now
that does puzzle me, for I have but one in the world, and he is a long
way off."

"Well, if you do meet your friend, then I'll believe her; but if not,
it has been all guess-work; and pray what did you pay for all this--was
it a shilling, or did she pick your pocket?"

"That's what puzzles me,--she refused to take anything. I offered it
again and again, and she said,'No; that she would have no money--that
her gift was not to be sold.'"

"Well, that is odd. Do you hear what this young man says," said
Melchior, addressing the others, who had swallowed every word.

"Yes," replied one; "but who is this person?"

"The queen of the gipsies, I am told. I never saw such a wonderful woman
in my life--her eye goes right through you. I met her on the common,
and, as she passed, she dropped a handkerchief. I ran back to give it
her, and then she thanked me, and said, 'Open your hand and let me see
the palm. Here are great lines, and you will be fortunate;' and then she
told me a great deal more, and bid God bless me."

"Then if she said that, she cannot have dealings with the _devil_,"
observed Melchior.

"Very odd--very strange--take no money--queen of the gipsies," was
echoed from all sides.

The landlady and the barmaid listened with wonder, when who should come
in, as previously agreed, but Timothy. I pretended not to see him, but
he came up to me, seizing me by the hand, and shaking it with apparent
delight, and crying, "Wilson, have you forgot Smith?"

"Smith!" cried I, looking earnestly in his face. "Why, so it is. How
came you here?"

"I left Dublin three days ago,"