“Here come the boys!”

“Oh, I do hope they won’t cut-up too much!”

“They’re sure to make a lot of fun!”

“I hope Blake brings that Indian book he promised.”

Four girls, gathered about a table in the library of the Anderson home, listened as the tramp of feet was heard on the porch that May evening. There were whispers, and then a weird whoop echoed.

“Horrid things!” pouted Mabel. “I told Phil if he didn’t behave he couldn’t come in.”

“Ha-nah-do-see-dah—kam-chat-kah!” called a voice. “Little maidens of the camp fire!”

“Oh, behave yourselves!” ordered Mabel, going to the door, but she could not smother the laughter out of her voice, and it broke into a merry peal as she beheld her brother and his two chums.

They stood on the steps, wrapped in old blankets, their faces outlined with colored chalk, and parts of a feather duster tied in their hair.

“How!” gutturally mumbled Phil, as he stalked into the hall, followed by Jack and Blake.

“How! How!” echoed the others.

“We come for heap big peace-talk,” went on Phil.

“Oh, don’t be silly!” admonished his sister, but the boys preserved their gravity, even if she did not, and her half-hysterical laughter brought her friends from the library.

“Aren’t they funny!” exclaimed Natalie, who, having no brother of her own, might be expected to take more than a casual interest in those of other girls.

“Thank you, pale-faced maiden,” spoke Blake. “You are as the breath of the pine tree, and——”

“Oh, what a lovely name,” murmured Natalie. “I wish I could have it for mine. Are there any Indian words for that, Blake?”

“It is written in the book, pale-faced maiden—Chee-ne-Sagoo—breath of the pine tree.”

“Isn’t it beautiful—the name I mean,” she said, as she accepted the volume the blanketed Blake held out.

“It is like thyself, pale-faced maiden,” and he bowed.

“Oh, that’s enough of this silliness!” exclaimed Mabel, breaking away from her brother who had tried to rub off some of the chalk from his cheeks to hers.

“Wow!” yelled Jack, as he threw off his covering, his almost too-realistic war-whoop giving the girls starts of fright. “Come on to the council fire. It is chilly, even if it is May,” and, followed by the others they filed into the pleasant library.

“First of all, let’s choose names,” suggested Mabel. “Did you look up any, Blake?”

“There are quite a number in the book,” he explained. “I marked some. They’re not all in the same Indian language, but that won’t matter I guess.”

“Not as long as they sound er—what’s that word we had in the lit. class the other day?” and Alice appealed to her chums.

“Euphonious,” suggested Natalie.

“That’s it! As long as they sound nice, and have some meaning, I don’t care whether mine is Chocktaw or Sioux.”

“Say my name over again, Blake,” appealed Natalie. “Whisper of the pine tree—was that it?”

“Very nearly. Chee-ne-Sagoo—breath of the pine tree—and it becomes you,” he added in a whisper.

“Silly,” she remarked, in the same tone.

“Did you find a word for bluebird?” asked Marie.

“The nearest I could get to it was bluebird of the mountain,” replied Blake, leafing over the book. “Here it is in Indian—wah-tu-go-mo.”

“Not so bad,” commented Marie. “That will be my name.”

“Here are two more I picked out, though if you don’t like them I dare say I can find more,” and Blake read from a slip of paper:

“Wep-da-se-nah—maiden of the green corn, and no-moh-te-nah—sweeper of the tepee. The last isn’t very romantic,” he apologized, “but it sounds nice—in Indian.”

“I guess that fits me,” laughed Alice. “Father says I’m always sweeping and dusting. I’ll take it, unless you want it, Mabel.”

“You may have it. I like maiden of the green corn.”

“Even though you can’t boil water without burning it,” mocked Phil. “Go ahead—the more different the merrier.”

“Is that a riddle?” asked Natalie.

“No, it’s the truth.”

“I think those names are just lovely!” declared Marie. “Let’s see now: chee-ne-sagoo—breath of the pine tree; that’s Natalie, and it just fits her,” and she blew a kiss from her finger tips, which salutation Blake pretended to catch as it fluttered by, saving it from a fall, and, more or less gracefully conveying it by proxy to its destination—also by blowing it from his hand. Natalie blushed slightly.

“Then there’s no-moh—no-moh—Oh, I can’t remember it, Blake,” and Marie appealed to him.

“No-moh-te-nah—sweeper of the tepee.”

“Yes, that’s Alice. Mabel is wep-da-se-nah—maiden of the green corn, and I’m wah-tu-go-mo—bluebird of the mountain. All of them charming, I think—much too nice for me, mine is.”

“They all become you,” declared Jack, with an exaggerated bow.

“We’ll have to write them down or we’ll forget them,” suggested Natalie, as she twirled the silver ring on her finger.

“And now let’s talk about camping,” suggested Alice. “You boys—where can they go, Mabel?” and she appealed to the young hostess.

“Well, I like that!” cried Phil. “After all our work—togging up like ‘Lo, the poor Indian,’ and bringing you those names—to calmly tell us we can leave. I guess not. We’re going to stay, and help you arrange about your camp.”

“Oh, we can do it ourselves,” declared his sister. “We are going to be very practical Camp Fire Girls.”

“Yes, they’ll throw a whole pound of butter away because an ant happens to get in it, and they’ll wash dishes through two waters,” commented Jack.

“Why, don’t you always wash dishes through two waters, when you boys go camping?” asked Marie in surprise.

“Never! When we finish a meal we put the dishes to soak in the lake, and when we come back the fish have them clean for us!” declared Phil.

“Oh, you boys are hopeless!” laughed Natalie. “You must promise to reform, or you can never come to our camp.”

“Then you are really going to try life in the woods?” asked Jack.

“Of course!” exclaimed Marie. “Didn’t you think we meant it?”

The shaking of three heads told the story of doubt.

“Well, we are!” insisted Alice. “Where would be a good place to go?”

“Green Lake!” answered the trio of youths as one.

“That’s because you boys have been there two or three times,” remarked Marie.

“No, but really it is,” went on Blake, who, having signaled to his chums by a series of winks, took the leadership in the argument he hoped would be convincing. “Green Lake is handy to get to, there are fine woods, there is good water to drink, plenty of camping sites, and the lake can’t be surpassed. There are boats to hire—motors and others—and supplies are easy to get. It’s the best place around here to camp. We boys are going there this summer——”

“Are you?” interrupted Natalie.

“We are!” declared Jack. “And, if you like, when we go up to make arrangements we’ll hire a place for you.”

“Shall we let them, girls?” and Alice appealed to her chums.

The girls looked at each other. Their eyes were sparkling with the light of new resolves. They had never gone camping though the three who had brothers had spent a day in the latters’ tents on the shores of Green Lake, about fifty miles away, where the boys had, once or twice, enjoyed their summer vacations. But for some years past, woodland life seemed to have lost its charms. Now, with the advent of the Camp Fire Girls organization, it seemed likely to be revived.

“Shall we?” repeated Alice.

There came a tap on the door, and Mabel, going to answer it found the maid there.

“Excuse me, Miss Mabel,” she said, “but do any of you want your fortunes told?”

“Our fortunes told?” echoed Mabel. “Why, Jennie, what do you mean?”

“There’s a Gypsy girl at the back door. She’s from that encampment over near Wilson’s woods, I guess. She asked me to inquire if there was any one who wanted their fortune told, and as I knew you had visitors, I thought——”

“Me for the Gypsy maiden!” sang out Blake.

“I’m first!” cried Phil.

“No, I’m going to see what the fateful future holds for me,” asserted Jack. “I want to see if I’m going to pass my exams.”

“Boys, be quiet!” commanded Mabel. “Girls, shall we do it—just for fun?” and she appealed to her chums. “Of course I don’t believe anything in it, but she may make a little diversion for us.”

“Just as if we didn’t try,” complained Blake. “Come on, fellows, we’ll leave ’em to their own destruction.”

“If they’re going to have a fair Gypsy maiden in I want to hear what she says,” declared Jack.

“As if we would let you!” exclaimed Natalie.

“Do have her, Mabel,” urged Alice. “That is if your mother won’t object.”

“I don’t believe she will. I’ll ask her. Tell the Gypsy girl to wait, Jennie,” and Mabel hurried up to the sitting room where Mrs. Anderson was reading.

“What a lark!” exclaimed Jack. “I wonder if she’s pretty?”

“All Gypsy girls are,” declared Phil, “some more than others.”

“I admire your taste,” mocked his sister.

“Mother says it’s all right,” announced Mabel, hurrying back. “We’ll have her in here, and you boys will have to behave.”

“Did we ever do otherwise?” demanded Phil, pretending indignation.

At the sight of the Gypsy, who followed the maid into the library, Natalie and Mabel exchanged glances. She was the same girl they had seen on the street that afternoon.

“Do you tell fortunes?” asked Mabel.

“Yes, lady,” and the Nomad made a bow. Then she looked calmly at the faces of those surrounding her. She seemed clean and neat, and even the half-admiring, if a little too bold glances of the boys, did not disconcert her. She was really pretty, a fact which Marie whispered to Natalie.

“Aren’t you afraid to be out so late?” went on Mabel.

“It is hardly dark yet—and who would harm a Gypsy maiden?” was the somewhat enigmatical answer.

“What do you charge for fortunes?” asked Mabel.

“Only twenty-five cents when I go from house to house. Though at our camp Neezar, our Queen, charges fifty and sometimes a dollar, for a very long fortune.”

“Have you really a Queen?” asked Alice.

“Certainly, lady,” spoke the Gypsy, and though her tones were a trifle coarse, her language was more correct than that of some school girls.

“I guess we’ll try the twenty-five cent fortunes,” suggested Alice. “What is your name?”

“I am called Hadee,” was the answer.

“I’ll go a dollar’s worth of fortune, Hadee,” whispered Jack.

“Be quiet,” ordered his sister.

“Will you tell them out here—where we all can listen?” asked Marie.

“No indeed—I don’t want any one to hear mine!” exclaimed Natalie, quickly.

“It is not done so,” explained the Gypsy. “Each one has her own fortune—it is for herself alone. I will not tell them in public,” and she seemed determined.

“I guess that would be better,” agreed Mabel. “We can go, one at a time, into this little room off the library. Who’ll be first.”

“Let me!” begged each of the boys.

“This is only for us girls,” rebuked Alice, “you may go practice bridge, whist, or chess.”

“Will you tell us your fortunes afterward?” asked Blake.

“Never—not until they come true!” laughed Natalie.

“I will tell yours first,” spoke the Gypsy, looking at Natalie with what the others thought a strange glance. “I can see you have much of a fortune in your hand—and—in your face.”

“Oh, how romantic! Well, I’m ready,” and Natalie went into a small room, opening off the library, with the Gypsy maiden.

Then, through the closed door, came a murmur of voices, but they were drowned in the excited comments of the other three girls, while the boys added their share.

Natalie came out a little later looking rather pale under her olive skin, but when quizzed about it, she laughingly declared there was no cause for it, since she had been promised a most glorious future.

“You’re going to cross water, meet a dark stranger, have a light complexioned enemy and all that, aren’t you?” demanded Jack, banteringly.

“Something like that,” laughed Natalie.

In turn the other girls went in and came out, making merry over what they heard in secret.

“Now for us!” exclaimed Blake, when Marie, the last of the quartette, had been told of the past, present and future.

“I tell no more!” announced the Gypsy, coming from the room. “I am tired. If they like the gentlemen may come to our camp to-morrow. I thank you, ladies, but it is late, and I must be getting back.”

“You may go out the front way,” suggested Mabel gently, for, somehow, they had all taken a liking to the pretty Gypsy stranger.

“Good-night,” she said, and standing on the front steps they all watched the Gypsy girl hurry down the street.

“Not half bad looking!” commented Jack. “Ahem!”

“She was rather a gentle little creature,” commented his sister.

“I wonder how they can stand such a life—in wagons traveling all over?” questioned Mabel.

“Well, she made a pretty good thing out of you girls,” declared Phil. “Now tell us what she said.”

“Never!” came firmly from Natalie, and the others echoed her words.

As they went back into the library they saw Mrs. Anderson standing at the door. Her face wore rather a worried look.

“What is it, momsey?” asked Phil. “Did you want your fortune told?”

“I just happened to think,” she answered, “that I had left my diamond ring on the table in the little room off the library. I came down to get it, but it isn’t there. Have you seen it, Mabel?”

“Mother! your diamond ring?”

“Yes.”

“And it was in that room that the Gypsy girl told our fortunes.”

“With the light turned low,” added Natalie.

Phil brushed past his sister, and, turning up the gas, looked carefully on the table in the little room.

“No ring here, mother,” he announced. “Are you sure you left it here?”

“Yes, I was putting away some seldom-used books, and I took it off so I would not knock it against the shelves. Perhaps it is on the floor.”

Then ensued a hurried search. It was unavailing. The girls and boys looked at one another.

“It—it’s gone!” murmured Mabel.

“And so is that Gypsy girl!” echoed Phil. “I’ll wager she has it! That’s why she didn’t want to stop to tell us fellows our fortunes. She wanted to get away! She had every chance in the world to slip that ring in her pocket when she was in the half-darkness here, telling fortunes. Fellows, come on to that Gypsy camp, and we’ll make her give it up!”