“Now take your apple-paring and form in line across the kitchen-floor,” Laura commanded.

The flock scampered to obey her.

“Now when I say ‘Three!’” she continued, “throw the parings back over your shoulder to the floor.  If the paring makes a letter, it will be the initial of your future husband or wife.  One! Two!  THREE!”

A dozen apple-parings flew to the floor.  Everybody raced across the room to examine the results.

“Mine is B,” Dicky said.

“And mine’s an O,” Rosie declared, “as plain as anything.  What’s yours, Maida?”

“It’s an X,” Maida answered in great perplexity.  “I don’t believe that there are any names beginning with X except Xenophon and Xerxes.”

“Well, mine’s as bad,” Laura laughed, “it’s a Z. I guess I’ll be Mrs. Zero.”

“That’s nothing,” Arthur laughed, “mine’s an &—­I can’t marry anybody named ——­’and.’”

“Well, if that isn’t successful,” Laura said, “there’s another way of finding out who your husband or wife’s going to be.  You must walk down the cellar-stairs backwards with a candle in one hand and a mirror in the other.  You must look in the mirror all the time and, when you get to the foot of the stairs, you will see, reflected in it, the face of your husband or wife.”

This did not interest the little children but the big ones were wild to try it.

“Gracious, doesn’t it sound scary?” Rosie said, her great eyes snapping.  “I love a game that’s kind of spooky, don’t you, Maida?”

Maida did not answer.  She was watching Harold who was sneaking out of the room very quietly from a door at the side.

“All right, then, Rosie,” Laura caught her up, “you can go first.”

The children all crowded over to the door leading to the cellar.  The stairs were as dark as pitch.  Rosie took the mirror and the candle that Laura handed her and slipped through the opening.  The little audience listened breathless.

They heard Rosie stumble awkwardly down the stairs, heard her pause at the foot.  Next came a moment of silence, of waiting as tense above as below.  Then came a burst of Rosie’s jolly laughter.  She came running up to them, her cheeks like roses, her eyes like stars.

They crowded around her.  “What did you see?” “Tell us about it?” they clamored.

Rosie shook her head.  “No, no, no,” she maintained, “I’m not going to tell you what I saw until you’ve been down yourself.”

It was Arthur’s turn next.  They listened again.  The same thing happened—­awkward stumbling down the stairs, a pause, then a roar of laughter.

“Oh what did you see?” they implored when he reappeared.

“Try it yourself!” he advised.  “I’m not going to tell.”

Dicky went next.  Again they all listened and to the same mysterious doings.  Dicky came back smiling but, like the others, he refused to describe his experiences.