“Oh, it will be all right if you remember to say ‘Bread and butter!’” interrupted Anna, eagerly.

They all laughed; but Miss Irene saw by the tell-tale faces of several that they clung to this childish practice.

“We used to do so in play when we were little girls,” said Emily, apologetically; “and I suppose it became a habit.”

“The other day,” Miss Graham went on, “I heard a young lady say:  ’If you are setting out upon a journey, or even a walk, and have to go back to the house for anything, be sure you sit down before starting off again.’  It is bad luck not to do so.’”

Emily colored.

“Yes, we are very particular about that!” cried Rosemary, impulsively, as her companions did not contradict the avowal; it was evident that she knew what she was talking about.

The conversation turned to other subjects.  Presently Anna and Rosemary were planning an excursion to a neighboring town.

“To visit Elizabeth Harris, who was at the convent with us last year,” explained the latter.  “Suppose we go to-morrow?”

“I have an engagement with the dentist,” was the doleful reply.

“Well, the day after?”

“Let me see,” mused Anna.  “Oh, no!” she added, hastily.  “I could not start on a journey or begin any work on a Friday; it would not be lucky, you know!” Then she flushed and looked toward Miss Irene, who shook her head significantly and wrote in her note-book, “Superstitious practice No. 4.”

As it was Emily’s birthday, the girls had been invited to stay for luncheon.  Emily now led the way to the dining-room, where a pretty table was spread.  Everything was as dainty as good taste and handsome auxiliaries could make it:  the snowy damask, fine glass, and old family silver; the small crystal bowls filled with chrysanthemums, and at each plate a tiny bouquet.

Mr. Mahon was down town at his business, but there stood Mrs. Mahon, so kind and affable; and the boys and girls of the family were waiting to take their seats.  The party paused, while, according to the good old-fashioned custom (now too often neglected), grace was said; and Cousin Irene, contemplating the bright faces and pleasant surroundings, thought she had seldom seen a more attractive picture.  But now she noticed that May, after a quick look around, appeared startled and anxious.  The next moment the foolish girl exclaimed: 

“O Mrs. Mahon, there are thirteen of us here!  You do not like to have thirteen persons at your table, do you?  Pardon me, but I’m so nervous about it!”

A shadow of annoyance flitted across Mrs. Mahon’s motherly countenance, but she answered gently:  “My dear, I never pay any attention to the superstition.  Still a hostess will not insist upon making a guest uncomfortable.  Tom,” she continued, addressing her youngest son, “you will oblige me by taking your luncheon afterward.”

Tom scowled at May, flung himself out of his chair, mumbled something about “stuff and nonsense;” and, avoiding his mother’s reproving glance, went off in no amiable humor.