“It’s K,” cried Hinpoha, covering her face with her hands. “What names begin with K?”
“All the noble names,” said Nakwisi dreamily.
“Mrs. Daniel King,” said Sahwah experimentally, whereupon Hinpoha hid her face in the bearskin rug.
“You try it, Katherine,” said Gladys. “I’ll hold the key with you.”
“Oh, I’m afraid to try it,” said Katherine, hanging back and looking uncomfortable. “It’s no use, anyway; nobody’d have me for a gift.”
“It always tells the truth,” said the blushing Hinpoha. “You know Miss Vining, Clara Morrison’s old maid aunt? Well, Clara persuaded her to try it and it wouldn’t turn for her at all, and they went through the alphabet three times in succession.”
With a skeptical expression Katherine suffered herself to be placed on the box covered with an old piece of tapestry displaying a threadbare figure of the three fates, which was the seat of those engaged in the mysteries. “My beloved is mine, and I am his,” she recited jerkily, keeping her eyes glued to the key. “He feedeth upon a row of lilies——”
“It’s ‘He feedeth upon the lilies,’ just ‘the lilies’; the ‘row’ part comes later,” interrupted Gladys in a sharp whisper.
“He feedeth upon the lilies, just the lilies, the row part——” repeated Katherine dutifully.
“No, no; it’s all wrong,” said Gladys impatiently. “Begin again.”
“Katherine! Oh-h-h-h Katherine! Are you up there?” the voice of Slim suddenly called from below.
The girls all started guiltily and fell into confusion. “Sh! Hide the Bible, quick!” cried Hinpoha in a sibilant whisper, darting forward and snatching it from Katherine’s hand and concealing it under the bear rug.
“What are you girls doing up there?” came from below.
“Oh, nothing,” floated down the illuminating reply from above.
If Nyoda had not been so completely engrossed in her private affairs just at this time she would have noticed the subtle undercurrent which seemed to have caught hold of the toes of the entire feminine half of the senior class at Washington High. It was not the Winnebagos only. In fact, they had caught it from the others. Every class has its epidemic, be it tonsillitis, friendship link bracelets or Knox hats. This year it was fortune telling. Where the mystic rite described above originated nobody could exactly tell, but in less than a week every girl in the class had been initiated into the secret, and was busy discovering what her future initials were to be. The performance was always carried on behind locked doors or in places otherwise secure from adult eyes, and was often interrupted right at the most exciting point by approaching footsteps, but questions as to how the innocent maids had been improving the shining hour invariably brought out the reply, “Oh, we weren’t doing _anything_—much.” Missing keys and books of family worship led to embarrassing questions once in a while, but somehow the situation was always bridged over and parents and teachers never really did find out what the fascinating something was that drew their young friends off into groups by themselves from which they emerged to day dream instead of getting their lessons and to make mysterious references to certain initials.