They said afterwards that all the devils in the world seemed flashing from the strange child’s blue eyes. She was barefoot and ragged; her dress far too short for her long-legged, awkward self, and her mop of brown hair in a disorderly braid. But she had a fine, strong body, despite the ragged dress, and, although she possessed not a single regular feature, there was a prophecy of true greatness in her face.
Daniel and Lorraine stared at the brown, clenched fists. They were the ordinary, well-dressed, well-nourished children to be seen in such a backwoods town as Birge’s Corners.
“Now you laff again,” Thurley commanded. “Laff—go on—let me hear you. I want to tell you I got a sick pa and ma, and we certainly have played hard luck all the way from Boulder, Colorado. I guess, if you had any manners, you’d not laff at us. Not if we do peddle tinware and tell fortunes by tea leaves. We ain’t always done it, and we ain’t always goin’ to. But we’re in hard luck—don’t you understand? And don’t you dare to laff when my ma talks or call us gypsies. We’re white folks, but we’re just a little bit discouraged,” her angry voice betrayed a quiver.
The others had gathered nearer to hear what was being said, looking up at the driver’s seat to where the wreck of a man sat smoking his corn-cob pipe, secure in the defense established by his small virago.
“I tell you right now,” Thurley’s mother supplemented, “that, when I had my health and was on the stage, I could have bought and sold the whole town. My father was a real Kentucky colonel, and I was brought up to never lift a finger—”
At which Thurley’s father took his pipe from his mouth long enough to say, “Shut up, Jen; let the kid give it to ’em—she knows how.”
Thurley took up the burden of defense. “We want the pro-pry-e-tor. We want to camp here to-night, and get some vittles and we’ll give him the loveliest new tins—as bright as silver. Where is the pro-pry-e-tor?”
Prince Hawkins and his wife, taking pity on the child, came to her rescue.
“Oh, pshaw, I don’t believe we want none of them tins!” Mrs. Hawkins said. “We got more now than we ever use.”
Tears gathered in Thurley’s eyes. She turned her head so they would remain a secret.
“Maybe you’d like your fortunes told?” suggested Mrs. Precore from the window ledge. “Honest, I certainly have told some remarkable things—why, a Chicago finan-seer wanted me to settle in Chicago so he could get my advice as to the stock exchange—” Here she gave way to coughing and vanished completely.