“Why, to be sure, I could; what else is the business of my whole life but to cure my fellow-cratures of their complaints?”

“Yes; I believe you are very fortunate in that way; however, for the present, I don’t require your aid, but it is very likely I shall soon.  There is a friend of mine in poor health, and if he doesn’t otherwise recover, I shall probably apply to you; but, then, the party I speak of has such a prejudice against quacks of all sorts, that I fear we must substitute one of your draughts, in a private way, for that of the regular doctor.  That, however, is not what I came to speak to you about.  Is not Caterine Collins, the fortune-teller a niece of yours?”

“She is, sir.”

“Where and when could I see her?—­but mark me, I don’t wish to be seen speaking to her in public.”

“Why not?—­what’s to prevent you from chattin’ wid her in an aisy pleasant way in the streets; nobody will obsarve any thing then, or think it strange that a gentleman should have a funny piece o’ discoorse wid a fortune-teller.”

“I don’t know that; observations might be made afterwards.”

“But what can she do for you that I can’t?  She’s a bad graft to have anything to do wid, and I wouldn’t recommend you to put much trust in her.”

“Why so?”

“Why, she’s nothin’ else than a schemer.”

Little did old Solomon suspect that he was raising her very highly in the estimation of his visitor by falling foul of her in this manner.

“At all events,” said Woodward, “I wish to see her; and, as I said, I came for the express purpose of asking you where and when I could see her—­privately, I mean.”

“That’s what I can’t tell you at the present spakin’,” replied Solomon.  “She has no fixed place of livin’, but is here to-day and away to-morrow.  God help you, she has travelled over the whole kingdom tellin’ fortunes.  Sometimes she’s a dummy, and spakes to them by signs—­sometimes a gypsy—­sometimes she’s this and sometimes she’s that, but not often the same thing long; she’s of as many colors as the rainbow.  But if you do wish to see her, there’s a chance that you may to-morrow.  A conjurer has come to town, and he’s to open to-morrow, for both town and country, and she’ll surely be here, for that’s taking the bit out of her mouth.”

“A conjurer!”

“Yes, he was here before some time ago, about the night of that bonfire that was put out by the shower o’ blood, but somehow he disappeared from the place, and he’s now come back.”

“A conjurer—­well, I shall see the conjurer myself to-morrow; but can you give me no more accurate information with respect to your niece?”

“Sarra syllable—­as I tould you, she’s never two nights in the same place; but, if I should see her, I’ll let her know your wishes; and what might I say, sir, that you wanted her to do for you?”

“That’s none of your affair, most sagacious Solomon—­I wish to speak with her myself, and privately, too; and if you see her, tell her to meet me here to-morrow night about this hour.”