Sally Price had parted, in the storm and stress of life, with most of the superstitions wherewith she began the world; but there were two upon which she still retained a firm hold. One related to the new moon, which was to her a sign and token of good luck if seen over the right shoulder, or in full face in the open sky; while the left shoulder, or the obscuring branches of trees, brought, in some shape or other, misfortune. She always made a wish before she removed her eyes from the first sight of the new moon, holding up money, if her pocket happened to contain any of that commodity; but in this she had less faith, though she often referred to the fact that, the very last new moon before Polly’s famous swoon, she, Sally, had shown the moon a silver dime, and had wished for something to do whereby they could keep from starving. The other superstition was that New Year’s Day foretold the year’s complexion, whether sad or joyful. Not its atmospheric condition. Sally looked upon the weather as a matter of too slight importance to be capable of foretelling anything; but sick or sorry; penniless, cold, and hungry; busy, happy, rich, and glad,—as New Year’s Day found her, so, in the main, would she be throughout the year. They were foolish superstitions enough, I admit; yet Sally had infused something into them not utterly and ridiculously preposterous. For if, as she so humbly and faithfully believed, a Providence watches over the fall of the sparrow, why could not the same Providence foretell to her by the position of the moon and her own impecuniosity, or the reverse, and also by the events and circumstances of New Year’s Day, His gracious will concerning her for the ensuing month or year? It was quite worth His while to comfort her with a little gleam of hope when help was at hand, or to give her time to prepare her mind if misfortune were approaching. And not for the world would she have waited to get the moon over her right shoulder before she looked up, or in any other way have tampered with the omen. It was certainly not her doing that they were to take possession of their new quarters in Männerchor Hall on Sylvester-Abend itself, or that the New Year was to open so brightly with a concert and ball; but it was not strange, but touching, how persistently she strove that Susan should be perfectly well by the eventful day. “If you wasn’t younger than me, Susan Price,” she said, “I’d say you was in your dotage. Tired! What have you done to tire you, I’d like to know?” “That’s just where it is, Sally,” her sister would answer meekly, “I ain’t done nothin’; and yet I feel’s if I don’t want to lift a finger, not if the house was afire.” “Well, don’t lift a finger, then,” Sally would reply. “There ain’t no call for you to; and when the house ketches fire, I’ll come and call you.”