And Carrie Horsley took it. She would have agreed to anything so long as she could get a chance to empty her reservoirs of enthusiasm into the Barnriff sea.
“You sure are a lucky woman, Kate. Maybe the rain wasn’t an omen for you at all. Maybe it was for the folks that didn’t marry on that day. You see, it’s easy reading these things wrong. Now I never read omens wrong, an’ the one I see this morning when I was bathin’ my little Sammy boy was dead sure. You see, I got to bathe him every morning for his spots, which is a heap better now. And I’m real glad, for Abe has got them spots on 121 his mind. He guessed it was my blood out of order. Said I needed sulphur in my tea. I kicked at that, an’ said he’d need to drink it, too. An’, as he allowed he’d given up tea on account of his digestion, nothing come of it. Of course I knew Sammy boy’s spots was on’y a teething rash, but men is so queer; spechully if the child’s the first, and a boy. Now what–––”
“And the omen, dear?” inquired Mrs. Crombie, who had all a woman’s interest in babies, but was just then ensnared in the net of superstition which held all Barnriff.
“The omen? Oh, yes, I was coming to that. You see, as I said I can read them, an’ this is one that never fails, never. I’ve proved it. When you prove an omen, stick to it, I says––and it pays. Now, this morning I set my stockings on the wrong––ahem––legs, and not one, but both of them was inside out. There’s bad luck, as you might say. And folks say that to escape it you must keep ’em that ways all day. But I changed ’em! Yes, mam, I changed ’em right in the face of misfortune, as you might say. And why? you ask. Because I’ve done it before, and nothing come of it. And how did I change ’em? you ask. Why, I stood to my knees in Sammy’s bath water, an’ then told Abe I’d got my feet wet bathing him. He says change ’em right away, Carrie, he says, and, him being my man, why I just changed ’em, seein’ I swore to obey him at the altar.”
“Very wise,” observed Kate Crombie, sapiently. “But this omen for Eve–––?”
“To be sure. I was just coming to it. Well, it wasn’t much, as you might say, but I’ve proved it before. It come when I was ladling out Abe’s cereal––he always has a cereal for breakfast. He says it eases his tubes when 122 he preaches for the minister––well, it come as I was ladling out his cereal; it was oatmeal porridge, Scotch––something come over me, an’ my arm shook. It was most unusual. Well, some of the cereal dropped right on to the floor. Kate Crombie, that porridge dropped, an’ when I looked there was a ring on the floor, a ring, my dear. A wedding-ring of porridge, as you might say. Did I call Abe’s attention to it? I says, ‘Abe,’ I says, ‘look!’ He looked. And not getting my meaning proper, he says, ‘Call the dog an’ let him lick it up!’ With that I says, ‘Abe, ain’t you got eyes?’ And he being slow in some things guessed he had. Then seeing I was put about some, he says, ‘Carrie,’ he says, ‘what d’ye mean?’ I see he was all of a quiver then, and feeling kind of sorry for his ignorance I just shrugged at him. ‘Marriage bed!’ says I. ‘And,’ I says, feeling he hadn’t quite got it, ‘in Barnriff.’ If that wasn’t Eve’s good luck, why, I ask you.”
“And when you were bathing–––”
“Oh, that––that was another,” Carrie replied hastily. “I’ll tell you–––”
But Kate heard herself called away at that moment, and hurried back into the hall. Her genius for administration was the ruling power in the work of decoration, and the enthusiasm of the helpers needed her controlling hand to get the work done by noon, which was the time fixed for the wedding.
But omen was the talk everywhere; it was impossible to avoid it. Every soul in the place had her omen. Jane Restless had a magpie. That very morning the bird had stolen a leaden plummet belonging to Restless and carried it to her cage, where she promptly set to 123 work to hatch it out. And she fought when Zac went to take it away. She made such a racket when it was gone that Jane was sorry, and picked out a small chicken’s egg and put it into the bird’s cage. “And, my dears,” she concluded triumphantly, “the langwidge that bird used trying to cover up all that egg was simply awful. What about that for luck? A magpie sittin’ on a wedding-day!”