Six he loves, seven she loves, eight they both love;
Nine he comes, ten he tarries,
Eleven he courts—"
"Oh," sighed Emmie, "only one more needed."
She rumpled up the paper, and with a glance towards her grandmother she thrust it behind the sofa.
"Pig!" remonstrated Val, under her breath, for once on the side of law and order.
"Ain't a pig. I shall see what my new shoe-buttons say," Emmie whispered. "Rich man, poor man, beggarman, thief, doctor, lawyer, merchant. Ha! going to be a chieftess. Now what shall I wear? Silk, satin, calico, cotton," and on till she was able to announce, with dark eyes glancing and full of glee: "Satin!"
"You cheated. You haven't any right to count the one that's off."
"Course I have. They're brand-new shoes, and the buttons haven't any right to come off first time. And it's goin' to be satin—green satin, bright, beautiful grass-green satin. Now I'll tell your fortune," she added, amiably.
But Val sprang up, crying: