"Yes, he does," cried Mrs. Rebson, obstinately, and adjusting her spectacles, "listen to this," and she read: "'The month of December will be dangerous to elderly men who are sick. They will probably die if the weather is severe, and in winter we may expect snow. Some elderly men will probably meet with a violent death, either by poison or the knife, or a railway accident, or by drowning, if they frequent seaside resorts. Beware the dead of night,' says the Domestic Prophet, 'to all men over fifty.'" After reading this precious extract, Mrs. Rebson lifted her eyes, to find Clarice choking with laughter, and assumed an offended air. "You were always foolish, Miss," she said, disdainfully, "but these things will come true. Mr. Horran is doomed; he is over fifty." "And how do you think he will die, Nanny--not in a railway accident or by drowning, as he can't leave the house. The severe weather may kill him, certainly, but I'll see that he is well wrapped up. There remains the knife and the poison. Which will he die of?" Mrs. Rebson still continued, disdainful. "It's all very well sniggering, Miss, but the Domestic Prophet is right very often." She opened the dismal book again, and read: "'When a black cat bites its tail, take it for a sign of a sudden death.' And," added Mrs. Rebson, closing the book solemnly, "I saw my black cat bite its tail only yesterday. Also Mr. Horran is elderly, and should beware the dead of night." "Well, then," said Clarice, flippantly, "I suppose Buster," this was the black cat's name, "hints, by biting his tail, that Mr. Horran is about to meet with a violent death at midnight." "I don't say Mr. Horran, Miss. But Dr. Jerce is over fifty, and so is the Rev. Nehemiah Clarke." "You also, Nanny--" "The Domestic Prophet is talking of men, deary. You scoff, Miss, but mark my words, before the end of the month, we'll hear of something." Miss Baird, still laughing, kissed the withered cheek. "I dare say," was her reply, "your prophet is very general in his applications. Well, I shall see Uncle Henry--" "Don't tell him what I say." "Oh, but I will, Nanny. It's too funny to keep to myself," and Clarice left the room laughing, while Mrs. Rebson, with a sigh for such levity, began to read The Domestic Prophet with renewed zeal.