Hallowe’en! Religion, romance and mischief give life and color to the name. But in the mind of the American boy mischief is the predominating thought when the name is spoken. It is still a mystery why this particular night should have been chosen for indulgence in that form of juvenile pleasure which consists chiefly in removing loose property of Mr. Smith to the front yard of Mr. Jones. But that it has been so chosen no early promenader of the streets on the first morning in November will have the temerity to deny. Convincing evidence of such transfers may be seen in almost every block.

The boys of the city of Fairweather were not different from the boys of other American cities and villages in this respect. So it was that on Hallowe’en in the year 1909, groups of these young citizens, on mischief bent, were plainly visible to the discerning eye. In the well-lighted and peopled streets they paraded boisterously, through the darker ways they stole quietly with whispered words.

It was not a pleasant night to be out, rain had fallen during the day, and with the cessation of the storm had come a mist that shrouded the town, blurred the lights, and made the wet air heavy and lifeless.

A small group of boys, perhaps a half dozen, ranging in age from twelve to sixteen years, moved quietly up a side street and approached the business quarter of the city. If they had been in mischief the evidences of it were not visible among them. If they contemplated mischief, only a reader of minds could have discovered that fact.

It was past midnight. Few people were abroad. A loitering policeman stopped at a street-corner as the boys went by and carelessly scanned the group. They were not openly violating any law nor breaking any city ordinance, therefore it was not his duty to interfere with their proper use of the highway, nor to investigate their proposed activities. So he swung his club back against his forearm, hummed under his breath a tune that he used to know as a boy, and went placidly on about his business. But if he had been suspicious, and had stealthily followed them, he might have seen something that would have aroused within him a measure of zeal in the performance of his undeniable duties. For, passing down the main street of the city, not three blocks distant from the corner where they had met the guardian of the public peace, these young American citizens came to a cobbler’s shop on the door-casing of which hung a board sign inscribed with the words:

“Puppies for Sale Here.”

“That sign,” said Halpert McCormack, the apparent leader of the group, “ought to come down. In my opinion a cobbler has no business to be selling puppies. ‘Shoemaker, stick to your last!’ That’s a proverb we parsed in Miss Buskin’s class this morning. What do you say, fellows?”

“Sure it ought to come down,” was the immediate and unanimous response.

“Besides,” added Little Dusty, the youngest boy in the company, “his puppies is no good anyway. My cousin Joe bought one off of him last week, and he can’t even bark yet.”

One member of the group, inclined to be facetious, inquired:

“Who can’t bark? Joe or the dog?”

“Neither one of ’em,” was the quick reply. “But the puppy’s got fleas an’ Joe ain’t.”

“That settles it,” said Hal McCormack, gravely. “A man that will sell puppies with fleas on ’em deserves no consideration from us.”

“Right you are!” was the response. “Here goes!”

It took but a minute to cut the sign loose from its fastenings and to carry it around into a side street where darkness threw a protecting mantle over mischief.

One of the other boys turned to Hal. “Well,” he said, “you told us to take it down; now you got to say what we do with it.”

“Blessed if I know,” replied Hal.

“Stick it up somewheres,” suggested Little Dusty.

“Sure, stick it up somewheres,” exclaimed the first boy, “but where?”

“We might fasten it to the sign o’ Jim Nagel, the butcher,” responded Little Dusty.

Then a boy known as Slicker spoke up. “Butchers don’t sell puppies,” he said, “they buy ’em. Folks’d think he was goin’ out o’ business if he put up a sign like that.”

“Oh,” commented Hal, “can that joke. It’s got whiskers.”

“Besides,” continued Slicker, “I know a better stunt than that. We’ll take it up to Barriscale’s, an’ fasten it on the gate-post.”

“Gee!” exclaimed Little Dusty. “My dad works at Barriscale’s, and if Mr. Barriscale found out I had a hand in it, Pop might get fired.”

“Well,” replied Slicker, “nobody’s goin’ to know who had a hand in it. We ain’t goin’ to hire no brass band an’ go around shoutin’ what we done. Are we, Hal?”

“No,” said Hal soberly. “This is secret business. No boy’s got a right to tell on anybody but himself, not even if they skin him alive. I won’t.”

“Nor I,” “Nor I.” The response was unanimous and whole-hearted.

“I don’t know about this Barriscale business, though,” added Hal. “If Mr. Barriscale should get mad about it, he’d scour the city to find out who did it, and then he’d have us all put in jail. Young Ben isn’t any easy proposition to butt up against, either.”

“Oh, you’re chicken-hearted!” exclaimed Slicker. “It’s no fun to swipe things if you don’t put ’em where folks don’t like it. I say hang the puppy sign on the king’s gate-post an’ let the consekences take care o’ theirselves. Am I right?”

“Right you are!” responded one member of the group after another. But Hal said: “Well, whatever you fellows say, goes. I’m game if you are. Where’s your sign? Let me have it!”

He took the oblong board and concealed it under the capacious folds of his rain-coat. “Now,” he added, “come on!”

So they started, heading again toward the main street of the city. Two blocks up that street they once more passed the loitering policeman on duty. If he had any suspicion that the outer garment of the leader of the group hid contraband property from his sight he did not mention it. But when they were well by he turned and called to them.

“You boys,” he said, “have no business on the street this time o’ night. I want you to go home, every one o’ you.”

“That’s where we’re headed for,” replied Slicker; and with that the incident was closed.

Benjamin Barriscale, toward whose private property the boys were moving, was at the head of the principal industry of the city, operated by a corporation known as the Barriscale Manufacturing Company. He was reputed to be a man of great wealth, of unbending will, generous or domineering as best suited his purpose. To invade his premises at midnight, on a mischief-making errand, was therefore an adventure which called for both courage and caution. His mansion was a full half mile from the center of the city; a square, stately house set well back from the street in the midst of a spacious lawn. Two massive, ornamental gate-posts guarded the entrance to the grounds, but the gates that swung between them were rarely closed. When the boys reached the place it was well past midnight and the lights in the electric lamps at the porch entrance had been extinguished. A single gleam showed faintly at an upper window; for the rest the darkness was complete save that a street lamp, a block away, endeavored, quite ineffectually, to send its rays into the thick mist overhanging the Barriscale grounds. For the perpetration of undiscoverable mischief the night was ideal.

Midway of the journey the heavy board sign had been transferred from its hiding-place under Hal’s rain-coat to the possession of two of the younger boys. Even to them it had grown increasingly substantial, and they were not loath now to relieve themselves of their burden.

After careful inspection of the gate-post it was the consensus of opinion that there was but one place on it where the sign could be conspicuously and safely fastened, and that was at the moulding near the top of the post.

And to hold it in place a piece of stout twine of sufficient length to pass across the face of the board and be tied behind the iron ornament at the summit was absolutely necessary. But the twine was immediately forthcoming. There was scarcely a boy in the company who had not that necessary equipment in one or another of his pockets. And the combined supply of the group, doubled and twisted and knotted, left nothing in the way of fastening material to be desired. So the puppy sign was hoisted into place, and two boys, at the risk of tumbling and breaking their necks, anchored it securely to the stone coping and the iron ornaments of Benjamin Barriscale’s massive gate-post.

But the incident was not yet quite closed. Before the mischief-makers were ready to turn their faces toward the street Slicker bethought himself of a supplementary task.

“Who’s got some black crayon?” he asked of the company.

No one appeared to have black crayon, but Little Dusty was able to produce a stub of a carpenter’s pencil which he had somewhere acquired, and he turned it over to the questioner.

“That’s the goods,” said Slicker. “Now hoist me up again.”

Supported on the shoulders of two of his comrades, and steadying himself with his left hand, he scrawled on the lower face of the board, in large black letters:

“Buy young Ben. He’s the only puppy left.”

When he had been carefully lowered to the sidewalk Slicker told his inquiring companions what he had written.

“That was a mistake!” exclaimed Hal. “They’ll have it in for us now, sure!”

“Let ’em,” replied Slicker.

“But you don’t know what you’ll be up against.”

“Maybe they’ll tell me if I ask ’em,” responded Slicker lightly.

Then Little Dusty spoke up.

“I hope Ben sees it himself,” said Dusty. “He’ll know what some boys thinks of him.”

“And we ain’t the only ones that think that way, either,” added another member of the group.

“You bet we ain’t!” exclaimed still another. “I know lots o’ fellows that’s got no use for him at all.”

It was very true that Benjamin Barriscale, Jr., was not especially popular with boys of his age. He was the only son of the wealthiest man in the city; he appreciated that fact, and was self-important accordingly. He was not offensively aristocratic or domineering, but he was unsocial, undemocratic, uncompanionable. He had his own group of friends, boys who followed him and flattered him, but he never seemed to inspire a spirit of true comradeship in any one.

Having at last finished the work in hand the Hallowe’en mischief-makers again faced toward the street, prepared now to follow the friendly advice of the down-town policeman.

But Slicker, with a low whistle, brought them to a sudden halt.

“We forgot somethin’,” he said in a hoarse whisper.

“What?” was the unanimous inquiry.

“We ain’t takin’ anything away. We got to take as much as we bring. ’Twouldn’t be fair to the rest o’ the places we visited if we didn’t do anything here but just leave a sign on a gate-post.”

“What is they to take?” inquired Little Dusty.

“I don’t know,” replied Slicker, “but we got to find somethin’. Come on back!”

Hal began to demur, but he was speedily overruled by the rest, and was quickly prevailed upon to accompany them. In single file, led by Slicker, they passed between the gate-posts and up the paved walk.

Then they stopped to listen. Out from the darkness at the left came gently the sound of splashing water. The boys knew, every one knew, that there was an ornamental fountain there. It had been a feature of the Barriscale lawn for many years. They also knew that, peering into the basin from the rim was the marble figure of a kneeling boy.

“Sh!” said Slicker. “What do you say if we cop the marble kid?”

“Great!” replied two of the boys. “Fine!” exclaimed Little Dusty. “But can we get her loose?”

“Sure we can. It ain’t spiked down. I know how it sets.”

Slicker had already started across the lawn, and the others followed.

But when they reached the fountain Hal again put in a word of protest.

“We mustn’t do that,” he said. “That thing cost money. S’pose we should drop it an’ break it?”

“Aw, we’ll be careful. See! It’s loose.” And Slicker, moving the corner of the statue gently, proved his contention that it could be easily removed. Indeed, one stout boy could have lifted it from its resting place and carried it away. “Here you, Billy,” added Slicker, “give us a lift.”

“Sh!” whispered Little Dusty. “Somebody’s comin’. Drop it an’ duck!”

They left the statue and threw themselves prostrate on the grass to await the passing by of the person whose footsteps they had heard. It was a man, evidently belated and walking rapidly down the street. And he never dreamed that, less than forty feet away from him, a group of mischievous boys were about to commit an act of vandalism unlicensed and unwarranted even by the rules and customs of Hallowe’en. Removing the cobbler’s sign had been taking sufficiently daring liberties with the property of other people, and fastening it to Mr. Barriscale’s gate-post had been hardly a meritorious invasion of the rights of private persons, even though it had all been done by virtue of the license assumed to be granted to Hallowe’en revelers. But what was now contemplated went far beyond the limit of harmless mischief, and the project, if carried to completion, would become not only a violation of law, but of good manners and good morals as well. Yet Hal was the only one of the company who appeared to look upon it in this light. And when the sound of passing footsteps had died away in the distance, and bodies were raised from the grass, he again protested.

“We’re getting in too deep,” he whispered. “It isn’t right. It isn’t fair. It’s carrying the thing too far.”

“We won’t carry it far,” replied Slicker. “Just up street a ways an’ drop it on somebody’s porch.”

“You know what I mean,” insisted Hal. “I’m ready for fun, or mischief either, up to a certain limit. But this is going beyond the limit.”

“Aw! you’re a piker! If you don’t like what we’re goin’ to do, you can take a sneak an’ go home. Come on, fellows! Who’s game?”

From the response it appeared that every one in the crowd was game except Hal. His judgment had been overruled and he made no further objection. But he did not “take a sneak.”

“All right!” he said. “If you fellows think it’s decent, and think you can get away with it, I’ll go along; but I’m not crazy about the job, I can tell you.”

That settled it. There was no other protest, and the process of removal began at once. Two boys, one at each end, lifted the statue carefully from its resting place. But then an accident happened. Slicker, leaning too far toward the fountain in his effort at assistance, tumbled inadvertently into the basin.

The boys, frightened at the mishap, lowered their burden to the grass, dropped on their knees, and awaited developments. It was possible that the noise of the splash might arouse the inmates of the house and lead to an investigation. Wet to his waist the victim of misplaced confidence in his own ability to preserve his balance, dragged himself slowly up across the rim of the basin, and joined his drooping comrades on the lawn. No one laughed. It was too serious a moment. Slicker himself was the first to speak.

“Gee!” he whispered through his chattering teeth, “that water’s cold.”

Then Hal had his innings.

“You’re the guy,” he said, “that better take a sneak for home, and get some dry duds on.”

“Not on your life,” was the reply. “I ain’t no sugar lump. A drop o’ water won’t hurt me. I’m goin’ to stay by till we land this stone cupid on somebody’s porch.”

“Whose porch?” asked Little Dusty.

“Well, I’ll s-s-say, Jim Perry’s. That’s only two or three blocks away, and we ain’t done nothin’ for J-J-Jim yet to-night.”

“That’s right! We mustn’t forget Jim.”

Evidently the noise of Slicker’s misadventure had aroused no one. Absolute silence still reigned in and about the Barriscale mansion. The boys got to their feet, again lifted the marble figure, and two of them bore it silently to the street and turned up the walk.

They passed the electric light at the corner in safety, went one more block, and then turned into a side street. It was very dark here. From two or three upper windows there were gleams of faint light, otherwise the darkness was impenetrable. Jim Perry lived midway of this block, but to locate his house in this kind of a night was next to impossible. It was not until one of the members of the group, known as Billy, whose home was just across the street, had gone back to the corner and counted the houses, that the boys felt at all sure of their exact location. But, having satisfied themselves that their selection of a resting-place for the “stone cupid” was fully justified, they lost no time in carrying their burden up the steps and depositing it on the Perry porch, much to the relief of Hal, who had been in constant fear lest some accident should happen to it.

And, having thus performed their duties and finished their night’s adventures, the Hallowe’en marauders decided to disband and seek their respective homes.

“Remember,” warned Slicker, “mum’s the word. No fellow’s got a right to squeal if they skin him alive.”

“I won’t peach,” replied one. “Nor I,” “Nor I,” added others. But Hal said:

“I’ll tell on myself if I want to, but wild horses won’t drag out of me anything about the rest of you.”

“All right! That’s fair!”

So, by ones and twos, they slipped away into the thick mist, leaving the marble figure of a kneeling boy reposing quietly on Jim Perry’s front porch, and peering silently into a crack in the floor, as he had peered for many years at his own image mirrored in the water of the fountain on the Barriscale lawn.

A half hour later another group of boys, marching up the main residence street of the city, reached the mansion of Benjamin Barriscale. And in this group was Benjamin Barriscale, Jr. They were returning from an evening of Hallowe’en adventures not dissimilar to the adventures of the company that had preceded them. At the entrance to the grounds they stopped to say good-night to Ben, for they too had finished their evening of sport and were on their way home.

In the mist and darkness no one saw the sign with which the big gate-post at the left had been ornamented. That work of skill and art was destined not to be discovered until the light of morning should disclose its beauty and appropriateness to the passer-by.

The splashing of the water in the fountain on the lawn came musically to the ears of the tired strollers, but no one of them dreamed that the kneeling water-sprite was no longer peering from the rim of the basin into the liquid depth beneath him.

“Well, boys,” said Ben, “I want the rest of you to do just as I’m going to do.”

A shrill voice piped up:

“Do you know what you’re goin’ to do?”

“Sure I do,” replied Ben; “I’m going up to the house and turn in so quick you can’t see me do it.”

“No, you’re not. You’re goin’ with us.”

“Where?”

“Well, you see, we haven’t taken anything off of Jim Perry’s porch yet. We always do that, every Hallowe’en, and if we pass him by this year he’d feel hurt.”

“That’s right!” added another boy. “We’ve got to do it. He’d never get over it if we didn’t. Come on!”

But Ben hung back. “I’m too tired,” he said. “You go ahead and swipe what you want to, but count me out.”

Again the shrill, piping voice broke in:

“Oh, don’t spoil the fun, Ben. Don’t be a piker. You’re the captain of the crew. You’ve got to go along to give orders. Come on!”

Thus adjured, Ben’s resolution wavered. He was fond of being considered the leader of his group. He felt that he was born to command.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll go this once if you insist on it. But this is the last prank for to-night, you understand.”

“Sure we understand.”

Silently the boys left the stately entrance to the Barriscale mansion and moved up the street and around the corner, following unwittingly in the footsteps of those boys who had taken the same journey so short a time before.

This group also found it difficult to locate the Perry house in the thick mist and deep darkness that shrouded the side street. But, having at last satisfied themselves that they were on the right spot, they selected two of their number to mount the porch and seek for booty while the rest stood guard below.

The reconnoitering squad at once entered upon the performance of the duties assigned to them, but it was no easy task to find their way about in the pitch darkness that surrounded the Perry house.

Those who were waiting on the pavement heard a noise as of some one stumbling, and a smothered exclamation of surprise.

“What’s the matter?” asked Ben, mounting half-way up the steps leading to the porch. “What is it?”

“Don’t know,” was the whispered reply. “Feels like stone. Heavy as the dickens!”

“Can you lift it?”

“Sure! The two of us have it now.”

“Then bring it along.”

Bearing the burden between them, and slowly feeling their way, the committee of search descended to the sidewalk and halted.

“What is it, anyway?” asked one. “Let’s feel of it,” said another.

So the investigation began, but it resulted in no definite knowledge concerning the character of the prize. Eyes were of course useless, and fingers were of little less avail.

“It feels something like the boy on the rim of our fountain basin,” said Ben after passing his hand carefully over the object from end to end. “But of course it can’t be that. Anyway, now we’ve got it what are we going to do with it?”

“Carry it to Hal McCormack’s and leave it on his porch,” said the boy with the shrill voice. “Let him find out what it is, an’ whose it is, an’ carry it home to-morrow morning. I bet he’s had plenty of fun to-night at somebody else’s expense; now let’s have a little fun at his expense.”

“Well, don’t waste time,” cautioned Ben. “If you’re going to take it to McCormack’s, come along!”

But the boy who was bearing the heavy end of the burden hesitated.

“Say,” he whispered, “can’t one o’ you fellows take my end? I barked my shin on the blamed thing up there, and it hurts.”

“Sure!” replied Ben. “Here; let me have it. Hurry up!”

But, in attempting to relieve his comrade, Ben failed to make his grasp secure; the end of the marble figure slipped from his hands, fell to the pavement, and was broken off almost midway of the statue, the remaining portion still secure in the grip of a boy named Bob.

The crash of the fall broke ominously into the stillness of the deserted street. For the first time that night the boys were really frightened.

“The jig’s up!” whispered one of them, as the fog-muffled echoes died away.

“Let’s leave the thing here on the walk an’ skedaddle,” said another.

“Let’s take it back on the porch,” said a third.

“No! I tell you, no!” exclaimed Ben. “We can’t leave it here now. We’ve got to take it away.”

He stooped and picked up the fragment nearest to him as he spoke. “Can you handle that other end alone, Bob?” he asked. “I’ve got this one; come on!”

Leading the way, he started off into the darkness, and his fellows followed him. There was little attempt now to soften their footsteps. It was primarily a question of haste.

At the corner of the street the boy with the shrill voice asked where they were going.

“To Hal McCormack’s, you simpleton!” answered Ben impatiently. “Isn’t that where you said you wanted to go?”

“Yes.”

“Then come along, and don’t stop to ask fool questions.”

The accident, and the thought of its possible consequences, had irritated him beyond measure, though he alone had been responsible for the breaking of the marble.

So to Hal McCormack’s house, three blocks away, they went. No words were spoken. The matter had become too serious. The two boys carrying the separated fragments mounted the steps cautiously and deposited their several burdens on the porch floor.

“Now,” said Ben, as he retraced his steps to the sidewalk, “beat it!”

They did not wait upon the order of their going, but went at once.

Up-stairs, in bed, Hal faintly heard a shuffling, scraping noise on the porch beneath his room, then, overcome by weariness, indifferent to all noises from whatever source they might proceed, he fell asleep.