Now Roger didn’t like Catherine Gould, but, as he told Elizabeth Ann afterward, that didn’t mean he wanted to tell tales about her. So when Uncle Hiram began to ask questions, Roger told everything that had happened to Elizabeth Ann and himself, but he said nothing about Catherine.

“I don’t see how Elizabeth Ann could miss the bus,” said Uncle Hiram. “Why didn’t Doris miss it, too?”

Elizabeth Ann blushed and Roger looked confused.

“Well, I’m afraid you’ll have to go to school and be marked tardy, Elizabeth Ann,” said Uncle Hiram. “I believe in finishing what you start out to do; and you started for school in good time this morning.” “I’ll drive you to school,” Mr. Gould offered.

“No—I mean no thank you, we can walk,” said Elizabeth Ann quickly.

She was afraid that if the principal or Miss Owen saw the car, they might come out to ask Mr. Gould about Catherine.

“Did Catherine make the bus this morning?” asked Mr. Gould suddenly.

Well, neither Elizabeth Ann nor Roger could answer that question without telling the whole story. Mr. Gould saw that something was wrong, and he began to ask so many questions that soon he and Uncle Hiram knew exactly what had happened. Elizabeth Ann cried, partly because she was tired and partly because she was afraid Catherine would blame her, and partly because she didn’t want Catherine to be scolded. But of course, she had to answer Mr. Gould’s questions and he went after Catherine and brought her to school—though it was then almost three o’clock and school was out at half past three. But first he took Elizabeth Ann and Roger to school, and though Miss Owen hated to do it, she had to mark them tardy. Elizabeth Ann was so tired and sleepy she couldn’t sit up at her desk, so Uncle Hiram took her home where she went to bed and slept till eight o’clock that night when she woke up and had bread and milk, then went to sleep again. But Roger stayed the rest of the day in school and rode home with Dave in the afternoon bus and told him about Elizabeth Ann.

Uncle Hiram explained to Elizabeth Ann before she went to school the next morning, that now, as long as she knew Catherine wouldn’t hurry and didn’t care how many friends she made late for school, that she was not to wait for her again.

“She must learn her own lessons,” said Uncle Hiram. “Perhaps if she finds no one will wait for her, she’ll teach herself to be on time. You can help people just so much, Elizabeth Ann; after that they must help themselves.”

Catherine did make the bus for the next few mornings. She may have been eager to talk over the fair plans with the others in school, since it was almost time for the great affair. Catherine had to remind her friends to bake their cakes, too, and she knew that if she didn’t make a good record in school her daddy would not take her around to collect the various cakes. Whatever her reasons, Catherine was as prompt as the most punctual scholar all the rest of the week.

“What are you going to do, Elizabeth Ann?” asked Roger, who had collected everything he could for the grab bag; Uncle Hiram had given him a basket filled with small things and that had delighted Roger beyond words.

Miss Owen had been pleased, too. There were shells in the basket and small curios, and little foreign coins and packets of postage stamps from strange countries. They all made lovely grab bag prizes.

But Elizabeth Ann wouldn’t tell even Roger what she was going to do at the fair. Miss Owen knew, and Doris knew, but no one else did. Of course Uncle Hiram and Aunt Grace knew—they didn’t count, Elizabeth Ann explained, because grown-ups had to know your secrets so they could help you with your costumes. “Costumes?” repeated Roger. “Are you going to wear a costume—like the one you wore Hallowe’en at Catherine’s party, Elizabeth Ann?”

“Sh! Don’t tell anyone I’m going to wear a costume,” Elizabeth Ann said. “I told you it’s a secret—and I’m not going to be a black cat!” and that was all Roger could coax from her.

The fair opened in the afternoon at two o’clock, so there was, of course, no school that afternoon. The long light basement looked very fine when the first visitors came down the stairs—there were rows of booths on each side of the hall, and each booth was in charge of a class room. All the pupils were supposed to take turns helping, so that each child would have some time to go around and see the other booths.

The teachers were on hand to make change and wrap parcels and answer questions, but the boys and girls were supposed to do most of the selling. And every one of them had customers, because if no one else came to buy, a mother or a daddy or an uncle or aunt would be sure to step up smilingly and say, “How much is that? I believe I’ll take it.”

At one end of the room was a tent, and five minutes after the fair had opened, the news was all over the basement that there was a fortune-teller in the tent.

“She’s tall and dark,” reported one of the teachers, “and she sits on a throne—I wonder who built the throne? They must have worked on it nights when no one was in the building.”

“The fortune-teller has an assistant,” Flora Gabrie told Roger Calendar. “I peeked in the tent. I’m sure I never saw her before. I never saw the fortune-teller, either. They must be from out of town.”

It cost ten cents to have one’s fortune told and it seemed as though everyone was anxious to find out what was “going to happen” as Flora Gabrie said with a little shiver. Flora said she didn’t believe that anyone could tell what was going to happen, but just the same she took ten cents of the money she had saved for Christmas, and gave it to the gypsy princess. Whatever the princess—who was tall and dark, and who might or might not have been pretty, for she was so wrapped up in veils that no one could see her face—told the people who came into her tent, it made them happy. Most of them laughed and laughed and just to hear them laughing in the tent made those outside who were waiting their turns, the more anxious to go in. All afternoon there was a line of people going and coming from the fortune-teller’s tent.

“I’m going, too,” Catherine Gould suddenly decided.

She had been spending all her money at the grab-bag table, for she liked the shells and stamps that Uncle Hiram had given Roger. She was rather greedy about them and might have opened some of the packages before she bought them, if Miss Owen had not kept an eye on her. But Catherine still had ten cents left and she meant to spend this to have her fortune told.

She had to stand in line for several minutes and then her turn came. The attendant, who was short, and wrapped in veils, too, opened the flap of the tent and led Catherine inside.

“Kneel,” said this attendant and Catherine knelt down before the gypsy princess who sat on a throne of pillows, most gorgeous to behold in her red and green frock.

“Oh-h!” cried the fortune-teller, as soon as she saw Catherine. “I see a door.”

Then Catherine saw that in her hand the gypsy held a little silver ball.

“What kind of a door is it?” whispered Catherine fearfully.

“It’s a queer, barn door,” the gypsy answered. “Can’t you see it?”—and she held the silver ball down close to Catherine’s eyes.

“It must be the corncrib door,” said Catherine, staring into the silver ball.

It was the gypsy’s turn to stare. She didn’t say anything but Catherine could feel her staring through her veil.

“I had a party Hallowe’en night, at my house,” went on Catherine. “And two girls won a box of candy for a prize. They didn’t eat it and I thought perhaps they wouldn’t want it, and I might as well have it myself. I didn’t know where else to hide it, to keep the other children from eating it, so I put it in the corncrib. I knew the mice or rats couldn’t get it there and I could take it out in the morning.”

The gypsy princess leaned down from her throne.

“Go on,” she commanded, while the attendant looked as though she might be glued to the floor.

“Why I—er—I guess I didn’t fasten the door,” said Catherine uncomfortably. “One of our cows got in during the night and ate so much corn she died. But I never said Roger Calendar left the door open—when my father asked me if any of the boys had been to the corncrib, I said Roger had. He had been there—that was the truth. He helped my aunt fix the strings for one of the party games.”

The gypsy drew a long breath.

“That’s why I couldn’t tell your fortune,” she announced. “You can’t have any fortune, unless you tell what really happened. Tell your father.”

“Oh, I couldn’t!” said Catherine hastily. “He’d be so cross. I can’t bear to have people cross with me. Besides, I’m not sure I did leave the door open. Perhaps Roger went to the corncrib after I did.”

The gypsy leaned down again and pressed something into Catherine’s hand.

“There’s your dime,” she said softly. “I haven’t told your fortune. I can’t find any for you.”

“Well, all right, I’ll go buy another grab bag,” Catherine retorted, a little angrily. “You won’t tell what I’ve told you, will you. I guess you won’t, because you don’t know anyone to tell. And no one would believe what a strange gypsy says, if I say it isn’t true, anyway.”

Other people were eager to have their fortunes told and as soon as Catherine went out, her dime clutched tightly in her hand, another took her place. And by five o’clock, when the fair was practically over, and Miss Owen said the gypsy must come and have some ice cream, there was almost fifty dollars in the money box in the tent. That didn’t mean five hundred people had had their fortunes told—dear no. Many folk left extra money because they knew it was going to be used for poor boys and girls, to give them a happy Christmas.

“I’m sure you’re all interested in our gypsy princess,” said Miss Owen, when the fortune-teller came out of her tent, “and I think I’ll have to introduce you—to Miss Elizabeth Ann Loring and her assistant, Doris Mason; this was entirely Elizabeth Ann’s idea and I think she has managed it very cleverly.”