"I'll tell you when it comes," answered Linnet, seriously.
With an intent face, and slow, careful fingers, Marjorie peeled the handsome apple without breaking the coils of the skin, then poised her hand and gave the shining, green rings a toss over her shoulder to the oilcloth.
"S! S! Oh! what a handsome S!" screamed Linnet.
"Well, what does it mean?" inquired Marjorie, interestedly.
"Oh, nothing, only you will marry a man whose name begins with S," said
Linnet, seriously.
"I don't believe I will!" returned Marjorie, contentedly. "Do you believe
I will, mother?"
Mrs. West was lifting a deliciously browned pumpkin pie from the oven, she set it carefully on the table beside Marjorie's yellow dish of quartered apples and then turned to the oven for its mate.
"Now cut one for me," urged Linnet gleefully.
"But I don't believe it," persisted Marjorie, picking among the apples in the basket at her feet; "you don't believe it yourself."
"I never knew it to come true," admitted Linnet, sagely, "but S is a common letter. There are more Smiths in the world than any one else. A woman went to an auction and bought a brass door plate with Smith on it because she had six daughters and was sure one of them would marry a Smith."