“True,” mused the minister, nodding his head slowly. “Doubly unfortunate was that dear woman’s death. If God in his wisdom had seen fit to spare her for a few days longer all this nonsense about the gypsy woman’s prophecy would be—”
“Sh! Here they come,” cautioned Silas, as steps were heard on the front porch.
“I hope Serepty Grimes don’t happen to drop in,” said Mr. Sikes uneasily.
“She won’t,” vouchsafed Mr. Link. “I happen to know that Ed Tucker’s wife ain’t expected to live till morning.”
“You don’t say so! I heard she was better to-day.”
“False alarm,” said the undertaker, thoughtlessly.
Mr. Baxter marshaled his son into the room on the tail of this remark, and ordered him to take off his hat—a command instantly followed by another that took him back to the door mat, where he sullenly performed a forgotten obligation.
And so it came to pass on this mild September evening, that young Oliver October learned what was in store for him if his “fortune” came true.
He sat very still and wide-eyed in the depths of the Morris chair—a distinction conferred upon him by his compassionate elders—his sturdy black-hosed legs sticking straight out before him, his grimy hands stuck—for reasons of shame—into his already crowded trouser pockets. His gray eyes, from which the cloud of obstinacy soon disappeared, went quickly from speaker to speaker as the grewsome story of that remote October night was unfolded in varying degrees of lucidity by the giants who towered over him. He was a very small boy and they were very big and very, very old monsters. And they were telling him all this, they said, because they loved him and were going to do everything they could to keep him from being hung some day! There wasn’t anything they wouldn’t do! But a great deal depended on him. That was the thing, repeated Mr. Link, over and over again. He must realize that a great deal depended on him.
First of all, it was imperative that he should never, never allow his temper to get the better of him; he must never, never get mad at anybody or anything; he must never get into fights; no matter what the provocation, he must not get into fights; if there was no other way, he must play with the little girls and avoid the boys—at least, until the little girls grew up and were too big for him to play with.