“I plan to make a living of it? You know, predictions, tea leaves, aura readings? Right now I’m studying crystal balls. I got a gift where balls are concerned.”

“Oh really,” said Sina drily. “It is always so comforting to believe in something, isn’t it? Old Tom once had an aunt who believed in leprechauns. And the people in Iceland believe in elves. They must derive so much comfort from that tripe. Hang on to the door there on the curves; that milk can is none too steady.”

Sina started the truck.

“Can you read my fortune?” yelled Zebediah.

“Oh yes,” said Gladys. “Your aura is very strong. Have you got a quarter?”

“I don’t have any money,” said Zebediah.

“I feel my powers fading,” said Gladys.

We were about to pull away when Mrs. Brookman came running out, calling, “Dear, I almost forgot your mail!” She rushed up to Sina’s window and passed her a pile of letters, and we headed home.

Once at the farm, Sina helped Gladys get settled into the cabin and then tried to convince her to make tea cookies, but Gladys said that her powers of divination were telling her that it was not an auspicious day for baking.

“Stuff and nonsense,” said Sina. “Do as you’re told.”

“All right,” said Gladys sulkily, getting off the cot in the cabin where she had collapsed with one of the beauty magazines she’d brought with her. “But I can take no responsibility for what happens as a result.”

“Can we look at your beauty magazines while you bake?” Winifred and I asked, but Gladys only glared at us and locked the cabin door with the key Sina had given her.

“She’s not very friendly,” whispered Winifred.

Sina showed Gladys the kitchen. Wilfred had gone back out to help Old Tom where he was planting peas, lettuce, carrots, beets, and runner beans in the kitchen garden. Zebediah, Winifred, and I just traipsed around after Sina because we didn’t want to miss the appearance of the Space Institute man. Sina had settled in the parlor and was sorting through the mail when, looking up at us, she suddenly said, “Oh.” Mrs. Brookman had given her the Maddens’ mail to hold until Crying Alice got back. Sina took a letter from the Maddens’ pile and handed it to Zebediah. “This one’s for you,” she said. “Now shoo. I’ve got bills to pay, and if you distract me, I’ll put the checks in all the wrong envelopes. I’ve done it before and it takes forever to sort out.”

“Will you call us when the space man comes?” asked Zebediah.

“Sure. Now shoo,” said Sina again, but instead of bill paying she began nervously dusting and straightening the parlor.

We went out to sit on the porch steps.

“Who’s it from?” asked Winifred, trying to grab the letter out of Zebediah’s hands to see for herself, but he clutched it to him.

“Let go, it’s mine!” he said.

“Well, open it, then,” demanded Winifred.