Very slowly Louise stirred the contents of the black pot, and silence fell upon the room as she held up an apparently plain sheet of white paper.
“Betty Thompson,” she chanted, and after holding the slip over a candle until the words written in milk appeared brown and mysterious, she read:
“You will become a famous Latin scholar, but you will die an early death from indigestion.”
Roars of laughter greeted this prophecy, for all knew how Betty hated Latin.
Florence Guile read the next.
“Connie Wentworth,” she droned, “you will make a world wide reputation as an actress, starring first as Lady Macbeth.”
The old girls understanding the allusion to Connie’s escapade of the year before were delighted. Then came Angela’s fortune and Louise read it with a smile.
“Upon reaching your second childhood, at the age of eighty-two, you will begin a strenuous and athletic life. Basket-ball and paper chases will be your chief joy.”
“What a doom,” groaned Angela, as she staggered from the platform amid hearty cheers.
Florence nearly burned up Lois’ fortune which came next, and had some difficulty in reading it.