“Pshaw, Rachel,” said Hetty, resolutely. “That is all nonsense. It is just the nervous fancy of a sick girl. You mustn't give way to it.”
“I should think so too,” replied Rachel, meekly. “If it did not so often come exactly true. My father will tell you how often we have tried it.”
“Well, then, tell me what I was thinking just now,” laughed Hetty.
Rachel colored. “I would rather not,” she replied, in an earnest tone.
“Oh! you're afraid it won't prove true,” said Hetty. “I'll take the risk, if you will.”
Rachel hesitated, but finally repeated her first answer. “I would rather not.”
Hetty persisted, and Rachel, with great reluctance, answered her as follows:
“You were thinking about yourself: you were dissatisfied about something in yourself; you are not happy, and you ought to be; you are so good.”
Hetty listened with a wonder-struck face. She disliked this more than she had ever in her life disliked any thing which had happened to her. She did not speak.
“Do not be angry,” said Rachel. “You made me tell you.”