e shadows, with the crumpled paper in his
pocket!

Now the girls and their guide were down on the lower road. There was a
twinkling light that showed the green van, horses, and the handsome
driver--and the man looked like Roberto.

"They are Gypsies, I believe," whispered Ruth.

"Oh! you have Gypsies on the brain," flung back her chum. "At least, we
shall be dry in that bus, if it rains. And we can find somebody at
Severn Corners to put us up, even if there is no hotel."

Ruth sighed, and agreed. The woman had been speaking to the man on the
seat. Now she took the lantern and went around to the back of the van.

"This way, little ladies," she said, in her most winning tone. "You may
rest in comfort inside here. Nobody but the good old grandmother and my
bebe."

"Come on!" said Helen to Ruth, leading the way.

There was a light in the interior and it dazzled the girls' eyes, as
they climbed in. The door snapped to behind them, and the horses started
along the road before either Ruth or Helen were able to see much of
their surroundings.

And strange enough their surroundings were; berths on either side of the
strange cart, made up for sleeping and covered with gay quilts. There
were chests and boxes, some of them padlocked, and all with cushions on
them for seats.

There was a table, and a hanging lamp, and a stove. A child was asleep
in one of the bunks; a white-haired poodle lay crouched at the child's
feet, and showed its teeth and snarled at the two visitors.

But the appearance that amazed--and really startled--the girls most was
the figure that sat facing them, as they entered the van. It was that
of an old, old crone, sitting on a stool, bent forward with her sharp
chin resting on her clenched fists, and her elbows on her knees, while
iron-gray elf-locks hung about her wrinkled, nut-brown face, half
screening it.

Her bead-like eyes held the girls entranced from the first. Ruth and
Helen looked at each other, startled and amazed, but they could not
speak. Nor could they keep their gaze for long off the strange old
woman.

"Who are you, little ladies?" croaked the hag at last.

Ruth became the spokesman. "We are two girls who have been motoring over
the hills. Our motor-car broke down, and we were left alone while my
friend's brother went for help. We grew fearful when it became dark----"

The gray lips opened again: "You own the motor-car, little ladies?"

"My friend's father owns it," said Ruth.