“We can give you something,” she said indifferently.  “We have a stewed rabbit, if you care for it.”

There was a wild scramble in the tree at that moment, and we thought all was over.  We learned later that Percy had made a move to climb higher, out of the firelight, and the coon had been so startled that he almost fell out.  But instead of looking up to investigate, the stranger backed toward the fire.

“Only a wildcat,” said Tish.  “They’ll not come near the fire.”

“Near!” exclaimed Mr. Willoughby.  “If they came any nearer, they’d have to get into it!”

“I think,” said Tish, “that if you are afraid of them—­although you are safe enough if you don’t get under the trees; they jump down, you know—­that you would better stay by the fire to-night.  In the morning we’ll start you toward a road.”

All night with Percy in the tree!  I gave her a savage glance, but she ignored me.

The Willoughby looked up nervously, and of course there were trees all about.

“I guess I’ll stay,” he agreed.  “What about that rabbit?”

I did not know Tish’s plan at that time, and while Aggie was feeding the Willoughby person and he was grumbling over his food, I took Tish aside.

“Are you crazy?” I demanded.  “Just through your idiocy Percy will have to stay in that tree all night—­and he’ll go to sleep, likely, and fall out.”

Tish eyed me coldly.

“You are a good soul, Lizzie,” she observed, “but don’t overwork your mind.  Go back and do something easy—­let the Willoughby cross your palm with silver, and tell his fortune.  If he asks any questions I’m queen of the gypsies, and give him to understand that we’re in temporary hiding from the law.  The worse he thinks of us the better.  Remember, we haven’t seen Percy.”

“I’m not going to lie,” I said sternly.

“Pooh!” Tish sneered.  “That wretch came into the woods to gloat over his rival’s misery.  The truth’s too good for him.”

I did my best, and I still have the silver dollar he gave me.  I told him I saw a small girl, who loved him but didn’t realize it yet, and there was another man.

“Good gracious,” I said, “there must be something wrong with your palm.  I see the other man, but he seems to be in trouble.  His clothing has been stolen, for he has none, and he is hungry, very hungry.”

“Ha!” said Mr. Willoughby, looking startled.  “You old gypsies beat the devil!  Hungry, eh?  Is that all?”

The light flared up again and I could see clearly the pale spot in the tree, which was Percy.  But Mr. Willoughby’s eyes were on his palm.

“He has about decided to give up something—­I cannot see just what,” I said loudly.  “He seems to be in the air, in a tree, perhaps.  If he wishes to be safe he should go higher.”

Percy took the hint and moved up, and I said that was all there was in the palm.  Soon after that Mr. Willoughby stretched out on the ground by the fire, and before long he was asleep.