AUNT MELVY AS A SOOTHSAYER It was a crisp afternoon in late October.

The road leading west from Clayton ran the gantlet of fiery maples and sumac until it reached the barren hillside below "Who'd 'a' Thought It." The little cabin clung to the side of the steep slope like a bit of fungus to the trunk of a tree.
In the doorway sat three girls, one tall and dark, one plump and fair, and the third straight and thin.

They were anxiously awaiting the revelation of the future as disclosed by Aunt Melvy's far-famed tea-leaves.

The prophetess kept them company while waiting for the water to boil.
"He sutenly is a peart boy," she was saying.

"De jedge done start him in plumb at de foot up at de 'cademy, an' dey tell me he's ketchin' up right along." "Wasn't it g-grand in Judge Hollis to send him to school ?" said Annette.