"For the sake of the rime," begged Martin. But the girls were not interested in houses. Yet the rest of the morning they went searching the orchard for the grass of fortune, and not telling. But once Martin, coming behind Jessica, distinctly heard her murmur "Thatcher!" and smile. And at another time he saw Joyce deliberately count her blade before beginning, and nip off a floret, and then begin; and the end was "Plowman." And presently little Joan came and knelt beside him where he sat counting on his own behalf, and said timidly, "Martin."
"Yes, dear?" said Martin absentmindedly.
"Oh. Martin, is it very wicked to poach?"
"The best men all do it," said Martin.
"Oh. Please, what are you counting?"
"You swear you won't tell?" said Martin, with a side-glance at her.
She shook her head, and he pulled at his grass whispering—
Jennifer,
Jessica,
Jane,
Joan,
Joyce,
Joscelyn,
Gillian—"
"And the last one?" said little Joan, with a rosy face; for he had paused at the eighth.
"Sh!" said Martin, and stuck his blade behind his ear and called "Dinner!"