Part 4 (2/2)
”I think you _have_ given me lots of things.”
”Come, Hol, don't stand there all day,” expostulated his brother from the sleigh.
”Good-bye, then,” said Hollis.
”Good-bye,” said Marjorie. And then he was off and the bells were jingling down the road and she had not even cautioned him ”Be a good boy.” She wished she had had something to give him to remember _her_ by; she had never done one thing to help him remember her and when he came back in years and years they would both be grown up and not know each other.
”Marjie, you are taking too thick peels,” remonstrated her mother. For the next half hour she conscientiously refrained from thinking of any thing but the apples.
”Oh, Marjie,” exclaimed Linnet, ”peel one whole, be careful and don't break it, and throw it over your right shoulder and see what letter comes.”
”Why?” asked Magorie, selecting a large, fair apple to peel.
”I'll tell you when it comes,” answered Linnet, seriously.
With an intent face, and slow, careful fingers, Marjorie peeled the handsome apple without breaking the coils of the skin, then poised her hand and gave the s.h.i.+ning, green rings a toss over her shoulder to the oilcloth.
”_S! S!_ Oh! what a handsome _S!_” screamed Linnet.
”Well, what does it mean?” inquired Marjorie, interestedly.
”Oh, nothing, only you will marry a man whose name begins with _S_,” said Linnet, seriously.
”I don't believe I will!” returned Marjorie, contentedly. ”Do you believe I will, mother?”
Mrs. West was lifting a deliciously browned pumpkin pie from the oven, she set it carefully on the table beside Marjorie's yellow dish of quartered apples and then turned to the oven for its mate.
”Now cut one for me,” urged Linnet gleefully.
”But I don't believe it,” persisted Marjorie, picking among the apples in the basket at her feet; ”you don't believe it yourself.”
”I never _knew_ it to come true,” admitted Linnet, sagely, ”but _S_ is a common letter. There are more Smiths in the world than any one else. A woman went to an auction and bought a bra.s.s door plate with _Smith_ on it because she had six daughters and was sure one of them would marry a Smith.”
”And _did_ one?” asked Maijorie, in her innocent voice. Linnet was sure her lungs were made of leather else she would have burst them every day laughing at foolish little Marjorie.
”The story ended there,” said Linnet.
”Stories always leave off at interesting places,” said Marjorie, guarding Linnet's future with slow-moving fingers. ”I hope mine won't.”
”It will if you die in the middle of it,” returned Linnet
Linnet was was.h.i.+ng the baking dishes at the sink.
”No, it wouldn't, it would go on and be more interesting,” said Marjorie, in her decided way; ”but I do want to finish it all.”
”Be careful, don't break mine,” continued Linnet, as Marjorie gave the apple rings a toss. ”There! you have!” she cried disappointedly. ”You've spoiled my fortune, Marjie.”
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