"Three," she said—"three," in an eager voice.
"No, six," in a decisive tone.
"Too much for the money."
Polly threw it from hand to hand, catching it in a tempting manner.
"Well, well," with a reluctant grunt. "You first?" giving her a piercing glance.
"Yes, so the others can take courage."
She looked at her hand and nodded curiously.
"You get your heart's desire after a long while," she said in her broken English. "You want it very much, but you go past it and then sorrow. A fair girl picks up what you have thrown away, and you hate her." How the eyes gleamed! It made me shudder.
I had gone past the old woman to where a younger one sat doing some bead work. Little ones played about in their noiseless fashion. I caught sentences at intervals. She would have two husbands and journeys, go away and come back, and meet the man she loved and be happy with him. "He throw away the fair one for you—she too pale, too thin, she not love enough."
"Well, so that I get him at last."