He came in, and Ellie shut the door behind him. "I've got some marvelous news, darling," she said. "I went to the clinic today and - well - they confirmed it - that I'm pregnant!" They held one another tightly, both of them crying with joy.       "Fantastic ... fantastic," he finally stammered. They continued to embrace for several minutes longer, then parted, still holding hands, and looked into each other's eyes. "But, of course, I knew," he said theatrically. "I had my hand read by a fortune-teller this morning. She said I was going to be a father. A fairly safe prediction for a young man, I suppose, but a strange coincidence that it should be today."        "Even stranger," she replied, "when we've both been told that children were out of the question." He nodded.       "I guess so. But she wouldn't know that, and I certainly wasn't about to tell her."       "But tell me all about it," said Ellie. "I didn't think they were having a fortune-teller at the fair. Anyway, having your palm read is rather a million miles from the sort of thing you'd normally do. How did it come about?"
	"I was waiting in the churchyard for the vicar, and I heard a lady singing softly in a very beautiful, melodic voice. It was a sort of ballad - well, more like a lullaby really. There were no words - she was sort of humming it, you know. I can't really describe it, but it had a very haunting quality about it, as if I was dreaming. "       "Anyway," continued Tom, "I looked around and saw this young, dark-haired woman in medieval costume the same as the rest of us were wearing. I introduced myself, telling her I was with the group who were staging the Mystery Play. I thought she'd tell me then what she was doing herself - acting in the pageant or behind one of the stalls or something."
"What did she say?"        "Well, she didn't actually tell me. But when she asked if she could read my palm, I guessed that was the thing she was doing at the fair - you know, what d'you call it, palmistry. Well, anyway, she talked in a strange way. Everybody had been encouraged to act the part, but I thought she was overdoing it, hamming it up. Her talk was full of 'thee' and 'thou', and I even heard 'mayhap' and 'forsooth' a couple of times. That was going a bit too far, I reckoned. And she said her name was Molly."        "So she read your palm," said Ellie. "This beautiful Molly dolly?"       "Well, she was nothing compared to you, of course, darling."       "Flattery..." "Anyway," he continued, "she read my hand. First looked at the left one, then the right. Traced the lines with her finger. Said stuff all about lifelines and heart-lines, the Mount of Venus and the Mount of Saturn. A long life and an artistic nature, all that sort of thing. And she told me I was going to be a father."       "Did you cross her palm with silver?"       "I would have done. But at that moment the vicar arrived. I turned to meet him as he came towards me, and when I turned back, Molly was gone. No sign of her."       "You're pulling my leg," said Ellie. Tom shook his head solemnly.       "No, no. It sounds that way, I know. But it really happened just as I've told you. Honest, Ellie." He touched his forehead in a parody of a boy scout's salute.

             The Rev. Hopkins rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "It's a mystery, Tom. You told me before about the young woman in the churchyard, but I honestly saw nobody with you that morning. I think you must have imagined it all. Anyway, what good news about you and Ellie. You'll be coming to see me about the christening arrangements soon."
      "Yes, of course. Though - er - I assure you there really was somebody in the churchyard, a dark-haired young lady who read my hand. But what I can't get out of my mind is the sound of her singing - that strange haunting voice of hers... something dream-like, kind of hypnotic about it."
        "Well, I can tell you there was nobody like that at the fair. In fact, I know nobody at all who fits your description. But if I was superstitious," he continued with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, "I'd say you had met Mary Jenkins."
       "Mary Jenkins?"
       "That's the old standing stone in the corner of the churchyard where I met you."
      "A standing stone?"
      Hopkins nodded. "That's right, a standing stone."
      "I've never noticed it before. But why do you call it Mary Jenkins?"
      "You're a newcomer to the village, Tom, so I'm not surprised you've never heard about it. Though I am surprised you didn't notice it the other morning. You were standing next to it!"
      "But amongst all the other gravestones and crosses...?"
      "Well, it really does stand out, you know - much taller, and a different coloured stone than the rest.
      "You must have a good look at it next time. My theory's that it's a Celtic cross with the horizontal pieces smoothed away due to weathering - or perhaps deliberately knocked off by Cromwell's soldiers back in the 17th century as a protest against popular superstition, you know."
      "But where does Mary Jenkins come in?"
      "I was getting to that. You see, it's to do with a popular old legend about the stone. In the rectory I've got an antique book on county folklore. You know, a huge volume with yellowed parchment sheets, leather binding, marbled end papers, the lot. According to that, Mary Beth Jenkins was a local witch who could divine people's futures by looking at their hands. We'd nowadays call her a fortune-teller or a palmist. But back in those days, anything like that which the Church disapproved of was immediately labelled 'witchcraft'. The story goes that she entranced people with her beautiful singing. That was her undoing. According to the legend, she was turned to stone for singing on the Sabbath. Before the churchyard was extended in the 18th century, the monolith stood just outside consecrated ground. But, anyway, there's some confusion over its original location."
      "As you know," added the vicar, "the pet name for Mary is Molly. And so the stone was always known as 'Singing Molly'."