You see, things was
gettin' pretty bad for you, and so----"
"Don't let's talk of it, Sim!" she broke in sharply.
"No, my lady, we won't," he agreed. "I was only goin' to say, things bein'
so bad made what happened a matter for rejoicin' and not sorrow, to those
who wish you well. That's all--that's all, my lady."
"Thank you, Sim. I know you're fond of me--and grateful," Carmen said.
"Things _were_ bad. I don't pretend to grieve. I shouldn't even have worn
mourning, if Madame Vestris, the great palmist in San Francisco, hadn't
told me it would bring me ill luck not to. I'm glad the year's up. I hate
black! This is a better anniversary than a silly old birthday, Sim!"
"Yes, and that reminds me, my lady," said Simeon, "that I've put together
enough perfect skins of the squirrels I've killed without the dope to make
the grand automobile coat I've been promisin' you so long. Got the last
skin cured to-day, as it happened. Maybe, that'll bring you _good_ luck!"
"Oh, I hope so!" she cried.
"Here's Nick--Mr. Hilliard," Harp announced, nodding his gray head in the
direction of the oleander path, to which Carmen's back was turned as she
stood.
She wheeled quickly, and saw a tall young man coming toward her, with long
strides.
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