Busily talking with Rob, as they followed along, Betty did not notice where they were going, until the strumming of a banjo and loud singing drew her attention to the fact that they were almost upon the gypsy camp.

“Oh, we mustn’t go in here!” she called, in alarm, seeing that the other girls were dismounting, and the boys were hitching their ponies along the fence.

“Why?” asked Joyce, pausing in the act of springing from the saddle.

“Godmother said we mustn’t.  Not an hour ago, she said it wasn’t a proper place for us, and that she wouldn’t think for a moment of allowing Lloyd to come.  When she saw that we were disappointed, she planned an entertainment for us to-night, and we agreed to it, both of us, Eugenia and I. Eugenia knows she did.”

There were some very curious glances exchanged in the little group, and the boys drew to one side, leaving the girls to settle the matter between them.  Eugenia darted a glance at Betty that would have withered her if it could.

“For goodness’ sake don’t make such an everlasting fuss about nothing,” she exclaimed.  “Come on; it will be all right.”

“But Eugenia,” interrupted Lloyd, “if mothah said I couldn’t go that settles it.”

“She didn’t tell you, did she?” asked Eugenia.

“No, but if she told you, it is just the same.”

“But she didn’t tell me,” persisted Eugenia, grown desperate to carry out her own wishes, and not stopping at the truth.  “I’ll tell you how it was.”

Putting an arm around Lloyd, she drew her aside.  “It is all Elizabeth’s imagination,” she protested, in a low tone.  “I never saw such a little silly for making mountains out of mole-hills.  She is such a fraid-cat that she wouldn’t look behind her if a fly buzzed.  Now you know, Lloyd, that, as particular as I am, I wouldn’t think of going anywhere that wasn’t proper, any more than your mother would.  I’ll take the responsibility.  I’m sure I am old enough, and it’s all right for us to go when three big boys are with us.”

The others could not hear what passed between the two.  Eugenia coaxed and wheedled and sneered by turns, and finally Lloyd yielded, and they all started in.  All but Betty.  She waited in the lane alone, riding up and down, up and down, for ages it seemed to her, waiting for them to come back.

In reality it was not quite an hour that she kept her solitary vigil in the lane.  As she rode back and forth she could catch glimpses of Eugenia’s pink dress inside the tent, where they were all gathered around the old fortune-teller.  Now and then she heard voices and laughter, and it gave her such a lonely, left-out feeling that she could scarcely keep back the tears.  She knew that the others thought she was fussy and overparticular, and that helped to make her thoroughly uncomfortable.

The fretful wail of a sick baby sounded at intervals from the tent.  The banjo-playing had stopped on their arrival.  It was nearly noon when the six children came straggling out of the tent.