e story ended there," said Linnet.

"Stories always leave off at interesting places," said Marjorie, guarding
Linnet's future with slow-moving fingers. "I hope mine won't."

"It will if you die in the middle of it," returned Linnet

Linnet was washing the baking dishes at the sink.

"No, it wouldn't, it would go on and be more interesting," said Marjorie,
in her decided way; "but I do want to finish it all."

"Be careful, don't break mine," continued Linnet, as Marjorie gave the
apple rings a toss. "There! you have!" she cried disappointedly. "You've
spoiled my fortune, Marjie."

"Linnet! Linnet!" rebuked her mother, shutting the oven door, "I thought
you were only playing. I wouldn't have let you go on if I had thought you
would have taken it in earnest."

"I don't really," returned Linnet, with a vexed laugh, "but I did want to
see what letter it would be."

"It's _O_," said Marjorie, turning to look over her shoulder.

"Rather a crooked one," conceded Linnet, "but it will have to do."

"Suppose you try a dozen times and they all come different," suggested
practical Marjorie.

"That proves it's all nonsense," answered her mother.

"And suppose you don't marry anybody," Marjorie continued, spoiling
Linnet's romance, "some letter, or something _like_ a letter has to come,
and then what of it?"

"Oh, it's only fun," explained Linnet.

"I don't want to know about my _S_" confessed Marjorie. "I'd rather wait
and find out. I want my life to be like a story-book and have surprises
in the next chapter."

"It's sure to have that," said her mother. "We mustn't _try_ to find out
what is hidden. We mustn't meddle with our lives, either. Hurry
providence, as somebody says in a book."

"And we can't ask anybody but God," said Marjorie, "because nobody else
knows. He could make any letter come that he wanted to."

"He will not tell us anything that way," returned her mother.

"I don't want him to," said Marjorie.

"Mother, I was in fun and you are making _serious_," cried Linnet with a
distressed face.

"Not making it dreadful, only serious," smiled her mother.

"I don't see why the letter has to be about your husband," argued
Marjorie, "lots of things will happen to us first"

"But that is exciting," said Linnet, "and it is the most of things in
story-books."

"I don't see why," continued Marjorie, unconvinced, turning an apple
around in her fingers, "isn't the other part of the story worth
anything?"