"Tell me, my pretty one, what are you called, so that the Romany will know their friend again. Tell us, too, where are you going?"

"My name is Petronella. Most people call me Peter------"

"That is a pity. Petronella! That is as good as a Romany name. Tell us some more, and then, if you wish it, I shall look at your hand and tell you more of yourself than you know. You have a handsome, lucky face, my pretty Petronella!"

Peter blushed. She did not really want her fortune told, and it was embarrassing to be spoken to in this way by this fine-looking woman, who, half the time, seemed to know what she was thinking before she spoke. Now she laughed merrily. "Never mind, little one. Perhaps in a year or two you will want to hear what Miranda can tell you of the future... Reuben," she called. "Come here. Our friend tells us where she goes and who she is."

So Peter told them easily enough of school and of her home at Hatchholt and finished up by saying:

"I'm on my way now to Barton Beach by the Stiperstones. I've got an uncle and aunt there. Do you know where it is? It's a farm called Seven Gates."

Reuben gasped suddenly and dropped the stick he was whittling. Miranda looked up at him in surprise. "Is that the big house by the place they call Black Dingle?" He nodded. Then to Peter. "And is it your uncle that lives there and you go to him now - today?"

"Yes," she said. "Mr. Micah Sterling is my uncle's name. But why do you look like that? Is anything wrong? Do you really know the farm and my uncle? And if so, why do you look so strangely at each other?"

Then they tried to put her off until she became almost frightened because she did not know why they seemed reluctant to talk about Seven Gates. At last Reuben took his pipe from his mouth and smiled down at her.