"The sea, the sea, the open sea;The blue, the fresh, the ever free,"chanted the fresh and delicious voice of a young girl walking along the sands of the seashore in the summer sunshine at Cape May."Cross my palm with silver, and I''ll tell your fortune, bonnie maid," said a cracked, discordant voice.The singer paused abruptly, and looked at the owner of the voice—a lean, decrepit old hag, who extended her withered hand imploringly."Nay, now, good soul," answered she, with a merry laugh, "fortune will come to me anyway, even if I keep my silver piece.""Aye—aye, it will," said the old crone, wagging her head like a bird of evil omen; "it aye comes to faces as bonny as your own. But it''s I that can tell you whether it be good or ill fortune.""Here, then," said the girl, still laughing, and putting a silver piece into the trembling old hand; "be cheerful, now, and tell me a brave fortune for my money."The old sibyl did not appear to relish the light and jesting tone of the other, and stood for a moment gazing at her in grave and portentous silence.What a contrast the two presented as they stood looking at each other!The girl was beautiful, with all the delicate freshness and slimness of eighteen. She was a dazzling blonde, with sea-blue eyes, and hair like spun gold falling beneath her jaunty sailor hat in long, loose curls to her graceful waist. She was fair as a lily, with a flush like the heart of a sea-shell on her round, dimpled cheeks. Her brow was fair and broad, and fringed with soft, childish rings of sunny hair. Her nose was small and straight; her mouth was curved like Cupid''s bow, its short, exquisite upper lip lending a touch of archness to the patrician mold of her[Pg 2] features. The small, delicately shaped hands and feet were in keeping with the rare beauty of her face and form. She was simply clad in a jaunty sailor costume of dark blue serge trimmed with white braid and pearl buttons, and carried a volume of poems in her gloved hand.

"The sea, the sea, the open sea;The blue, the fresh, the ever free,"chanted the fresh and delicious voice of a young girl walking along the sands of the seashore in the summer sunshine at Cape May."Cross my palm with silver, and I''ll tell your fortune, bonnie maid," said a cracked, discordant voice.The singer paused abruptly, and looked at the owner of the voice—a lean, decrepit old hag, who extended her withered hand imploringly."Nay, now, good soul," answered she, with a merry laugh, "fortune will come to me anyway, even if I keep my silver piece.""Aye—aye, it will," said the old crone, wagging her head like a bird of evil omen; "it aye comes to faces as bonny as your own. But it''s I that can tell you whether it be good or ill fortune.""Here, then," said the girl, still laughing, and putting a silver piece into the trembling old hand; "be cheerful, now, and tell me a brave fortune for my money."The old sibyl did not appear to relish the light and jesting tone of the other, and stood for a moment gazing at her in grave and portentous silence.What a contrast the two presented as they stood looking at each other!The girl was beautiful, with all the delicate freshness and slimness of eighteen. She was a dazzling blonde, with sea-blue eyes, and hair like spun gold falling beneath her jaunty sailor hat in long, loose curls to her graceful waist. She was fair as a lily, with a flush like the heart of a sea-shell on her round, dimpled cheeks. Her brow was fair and broad, and fringed with soft, childish rings of sunny hair. Her nose was small and straight; her mouth was curved like Cupid''s bow, its short, exquisite upper lip lending a touch of archness to the patrician mold of her[Pg 2] features. The small, delicately shaped hands and feet were in keeping with the rare beauty of her face and form. She was simply clad in a jaunty sailor costume of dark blue serge trimmed with white braid and pearl buttons, and carried a volume of poems in her gloved hand.

"The sea, the sea, the open sea;The blue, the fresh, the ever free,"chanted the fresh and delicious voice of a young girl walking along the sands of the seashore in the summer sunshine at Cape May."Cross my palm with silver, and I''ll tell your fortune, bonnie maid," said a cracked, discordant voice.The singer paused abruptly, and looked at the owner of the voice—a lean, decrepit old hag, who extended her withered hand imploringly."Nay, now, good soul," answered she, with a merry laugh, "fortune will come to me anyway, even if I keep my silver piece.""Aye—aye, it will," said the old crone, wagging her head like a bird of evil omen; "it aye comes to faces as bonny as your own. But it''s I that can tell you whether it be good or ill fortune.""Here, then," said the girl, still laughing, and putting a silver piece into the trembling old hand; "be cheerful, now, and tell me a brave fortune for my money."The old sibyl did not appear to relish the light and jesting tone of the other, and stood for a moment gazing at her in grave and portentous silence.What a contrast the two presented as they stood looking at each other!The girl was beautiful, with all the delicate freshness and slimness of eighteen. She was a dazzling blonde, with sea-blue eyes, and hair like spun gold falling beneath her jaunty sailor hat in long, loose curls to her graceful waist. She was fair as a lily, with a flush like the heart of a sea-shell on her round, dimpled cheeks. Her brow was fair and broad, and fringed with soft, childish rings of sunny hair. Her nose was small and straight; her mouth was curved like Cupid''s bow, its short, exquisite upper lip lending a touch of archness to the patrician mold of her[Pg 2] features. The small, delicately shaped hands and feet were in keeping with the rare beauty of her face and form. She was simply clad in a jaunty sailor costume of dark blue serge trimmed with white braid and pearl buttons, and carried a volume of poems in her gloved hand.