HULDAH THE PROPHETESS
Huldah’s face fell.
“I’d ought to have known better than to turn my white skirt yesterday,” she sighed. “I never knew it to fail bringing bad luck. I vow I’ll never do it again.”
“That’s one o’ the signs I have n’t got so much confidence in,” said Mrs. Rumford, skimming the cream from a pan of milk into the churn and putting the skimmed milk on the table. “It don’t come true with me more ’n three times out o’ five, but there’s others that never fails. You jest hold on, Huldy; the dish-cloth and the rooster knows as much ’bout what’s goin’ to happen as your white petticoat does.”
“Jest about as much,” interpolated Jimmy, with his utterance somewhat choked by hot doughnut.
Huldah sat down at the table and made a pretense of eating something, but her heart was heavy within her.
“What are you churning for on Friday, mother?” she asked.
“Why, I told you I am looking for stran-
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