Carmel, hearing that she was collecting post cards, sent home for some special ones of Sicily; Dulcie tendered chocolates; Lilias crocheted her a pincushion cover, and Bertha painted her a hair-tidy. She accepted their little kindnesses with mild astonishment, but not a hint of the real reason of their sudden advances flashed across her mind. "We mustn't let her suspect!" said Dulcie. "Rather not!" agreed Carmel. "Not for worlds!" said Gowan emphatically. CHAPTER XII White Magic October passed by with flaming crimson and gold on the trees, and orange and mauve toadstools among the moss of the woods, and squirrels scampering up the Scotch pines at the top of the garden, laying by their winter store of nuts; and flocks of migrating birds twittering in the fields, and hosts of glittering red hips and haws in the hedges, and shrouds of fairy gossamer over the blackberry bushes. It was Carmel's first autumn in England, and, though her artistic temperament revelled in the beauty of the tints, the falling leaves filled her with consternation. "It is so sad to see them all come down," she declared. "Why the trees will soon be quite bare! Nothing but branches left!" "What else do you expect?" asked Gowan. "They won't keep green all the winter." "I suppose not. But in Sicily we have so many evergreens and shrubs that flower all the winter. The oranges and lemons begin to get ripe soon after Christmas, and we have agaves and prickly pears everywhere. I can't imagine a landscape without any leaves!" "Wait till you see the snow! It's prime then!" "There's generally snow on Etna, but I haven't been up so high. It doesn't fall where we live." "Girl alive! Have you never made a snowball?" "Never." "Then it's a treat in store for you. I sincerely hope we shall have a hard winter." "We ought to, by the number of berries in the hedges," put in Bertha. "It's an old saying that they foretell frost. "'Bushes red with hip and haw, Weeks of frost without a thaw.' I don't know whether it always comes true, though." "I'm a believer in superstitions," declared Gowan. "Scotch people generally are, I think. My great-grandmother used to have second sight. By the by; it's Hallowe'en on Friday! I vote we rummage up all the old charms we can, and try them. It would be ever such fun." "Topping! Only let us keep it to the Mafia, and not let the others know." "_Ra_ther! We don't want Laurette and Co. butting in." The remaining members of the Mafia, when consulted, received the idea with enthusiasm. There is a vein of superstition at the bottom of the most practical among us, and all of them were well accustomed to practise such rites as throwing spilt salt over the left shoulder, curtseying to the new moon, and turning their money when they heard the cuckoo.