Page:Wiggin--Ladies-in-waiting.djvu/187

  kind of it to rain and support her in what she had prophesied of Saturday weather!

All at once a healing thought popped into her head. “I shall not live many years,” she reflected—“not after losing Pitt, and having his mother crow over me, and that hateful Jennie Perkins, having the family hair wreath hanging over her sofa, and my wedding ring on her hand; but so long as I live I will keep account of rainy Saturdays, and find a way to send the record to Pitt every New Year’s Day just to prove that I was right. Then I shall die young, and perhaps he will plant something on my grave, and water it with his tears; and perhaps he will put up a marble gravestone over me, unbeknownst to Jennie, and have an appropriate verse of Scripture carved on it, something like:

I can see it as plain as if it was written. I hope they will make it come out even on the edges, and that he will think to have a white marble