"Wrong there, most reverend sorceress!" exclaimed the one called Sumpter.
"Now, hark ye!" exclaimed the old crone; "I won't be interrupted. I guess I know my own cups."
"Be quiet, be quiet, Jack!" said Hardin. "Why will you be so presumptuous as to gainsay a prophet's assertions! Go on, Aunt Patty; he will not disturb you again."
"Well, I tell you again," said the woman, casting a disdainful glance on Sumpter, who had withdrawn to a chair at the foot of the cot-bed, and was regarding attentively the tiny form lying there wrapped in tranquil sleep, "I tell you again, you are ambitious. You want to be thought great. You want to be first. You thirst for power for the sake of bowing others to your will. You have rich parents now, and are surrounded by all that heart could wish; but, mind ye, there's a dark cloud in the rear. It threatens tempest and desolation. Soon your parents will be dead, and you hurrying from your rich, splendid home to seek your fortune in a distant country. You will seem to prosper for a while, and then it blackens again. You can see yourself," she added, holding the cup before the young man's face, "that black clump in the bottom."
"I see only a few tea-grounds your turnings and shakings have settled together," remarked he, carelessly.
"Destiny placed them as they are, young men," said the hag, solemnly.
"May be so," he added; "but tell me, how long shall I live? Shall I be successful in love, and will my lady be handsome?"
"Thou wilt live longer than thou wilt wish; ay, drag on many years when thou wouldst fain be sleeping in the earth's cold bed! Thou wilt love,—thou wilt marry, and thy lady will be beautiful as the day-star."
"Enough, enough!" exclaimed the youth, starting to his feet. "Do you hear, Jack? Is not mine a brave fortune? I shall love, marry, and my wife will be a goddess of beauty."
"Yes," said the crone; "but mark, she will not love you."