'You won't give me nothing to tell your fortune, pretty lady?
How much will you give me to tell it, then?
Give me something, or I'll call it after you!' croaked the old woman, passionately.
Mr Carker, whom the lady was about to pass close, slinking against his tree as she crossed to gain the path, advanced so as to meet her, and pulling off his hat as she went by, bade the old woman hold her peace.
The lady acknowledged his interference with an inclination of the head, and went her way.
'You give me something then, or I'll call it after her!' screamed the old woman, throwing up her arms, and pressing forward against his outstretched hand.

'Or come,' she added, dropping her voice suddenly, looking at him earnestly, and seeming in a moment to forget the object of her wrath, 'give me something, or I'll call it after you!' 'After me, old lady!' returned the Manager, putting his hand in his pocket.
'Yes,' said the woman, steadfast in her scrutiny, and holding out her shrivelled hand.

'I know!' 'What do you know ?' demanded Carker, throwing her a shilling.

'Do you know who the handsome lady is ?' Munching like that sailor's wife of yore, who had chestnuts In her lap, and scowling like the witch who asked for some in vain, the old woman picked the shilling up, and going backwards, like a crab, or like a heap of crabs: for her alternately expanding and contracting hands might have represented two of that species, and her creeping face, some half-a-dozen more: crouched on the veinous root of an old tree, pulled out a short black pipe from within the crown of her bonnet, lighted it with a match, and smoked in silence, looking fixedly at her questioner.
Mr Carker laughed, and turned upon his heel.
'Good!' said the old woman.

'One child dead, and one child living: one wife dead, and one wife coming.