Eugenia, thrusting one little foot from a mass of pink ruffles, gave an impatient push against the ground with the toe of her slipper, which set the hammock to swinging violently.
"Ho-hum!" she yawned, discontently.

"I wish that we could go down to the gypsy camp that we passed yesterday." "So do I," agreed Joyce.

"It looked so picturesque with the tents and the white covered wagons, and that old crone bending over the camp-fire.
I know a woman at home who had her fortune told by a gypsy, and every single thing that was told her came true." "I wonder how they can tell," said Eugenia.
"By the lines in their hands.

It is as plain as the alphabet to some people.

They can tell how long you're going to live, whether you'll be married or not, and what sort of a future you're to have.