Page:Poet Lore, volume 29, 1918.pdf/105

Mistress.—Have you been watching him, then?

Maid.—With apologies, my gracious lady: I saw him and also heard him. Only that then he said “the fifth.” Let us count. To-day is Friday. Yes, it was on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday. It works out.

Mistress.—What works out?

Maid.—Monday—the fifth. Thursday—the eighth. Friday, then, will be the ninth.

Mistress.—What do you mean by all that?

Maid.—With us it is a custom; a peasant custom, and quite foolish. It is a superstition that is really silly. It is said, that if for nine nights in succession you count nine stars, your wish shall be granted.

Mistress.—Really?

Maid.—That is the belief——!

Mistress.—And do you think that Mr. Ort has some wish?

Maid.—He is so young.

Mistress.—And his wish?

Maid.—He is so young, gracious lady; how can I tell? Young people ask for something, but do not know, themselves, what they want. My gracious lady surely knows more about it herself.

Mistress.—Eighth— That would signify then, that he had counted nine stars for eight successive nights?

Maid.—It would be useless, otherwise, to count longer!

Mistress.—And the ninth night could spoil everything?

Maid.—One night, often spoils many nights.

Mistress.—It is an odd superstition.

Maid.—Odd, indeed. And it is not so easy to get all conditions. I had two chums: Paula and Bess. Both counted the stars. Bess never finished counting; the last night a terrific storm came up.

Mistress.—And Paula?

Maid.—The last night some one else came. The conditions are difficult. It is unusual that there should be clear skies nine nights in succession, although it will happen—but to forget to count nine times in rotation, that is worse.

Mistress.—But Mr. Ort did not forget to count.

Maid.—All honor to Mr. Ort; but we will see if he counted well.

Mistress.—And what do you suppose his wish is?