“We’re in for it,” whispered Tweedle-dee to Tweedle-dum, as the two comical figures drew unobtrusively into the rear of the group of girls now removing their masks under Mrs. Bonnell’s half-amused, half-serious eyes, for she began to suspect that some sort of innocent prank had been played which, like many another would have harmlessly played itself out if let alone. She had always been opposed to the rigorous ban placed upon boys and their visits to Leslie Manor by Miss Woodhull, believing and justifiably too, that such arbitrary rules only led to a livelier desire in the girls to meet said boys by hook or by crook.

“Hush!” whispered Tweedle-dum “and come behind this rubber plant. Now get down on your hands and knees and follow me.”

Tweedle-dee promptly obeyed orders and the next moment was in front of the spiral stairway which led to the gallery.

“Make yourself as small as possible and crawl on your stomach up this staircase. At the other end of the gallery is a door leading into our wing. I can’t tell you another thing. Just use your wits,” and Tweedle-dum flitted back to be swallowed up in the crowd of girls who, once more restored to an equable frame of mind were laughing merrily, everyone asking everyone else if she knew who the Jack o’ Lantern really was. This very fact was sufficient reassurance for Mrs. Bonnell. She knew girls better than Miss Woodhull knew them in spite of having known nothing else for more than forty years, but she resolved then and there not to ask too many questions, which fact made two girls her slaves for life. The discipline department was not her province nor was it one which anything could have induced her to undertake. If Will-o’-the-Wisp was aware of the name of her partner in the quartette hornpipe, or Tweedle-dum knew Tweedle-dee’s surname Miss Woodhull was the one to find it out, not she. So smiling upon the group before her she asked:

“Are you now all visible to the naked eye and all accounted for? If so, let us to the feast, for time is speeding.” No urging was needed and lots were promptly drawn for the privilege of cutting the fate cake. Mrs. Bonnell had not considered it necessary to mention the fact that she had ordered Aunt Sally, the cook, to bake one for the occasion, and while good fellowship and hilarity reign below let us follow two less fortunate mortals whom the witches seemed to have marked for their sport that night.

Agreeable with Miss Woodhull’s orders, Miss Baylis, who was only too delighted to shine so advantageously in her superior’s eyes, had scuttled away, issuing as she went, the order to close all outer doors and guard them, allowing no one to pass through. Guileless souls both hers and Miss Woodhull’s, though another adjective might possibly be more apt. The house had a few windows as well as doors.

Meeting Miss Stetson on the stairs she found in her a militant coadjutor, and wireless could not have flashed the orders more quickly. Servants went a-running until one might have suspected the presence of a criminal in Leslie Manor rather than a mere boy.

Meanwhile, what of Jack o’ Lantern and Tweedle-dee? Jack, it must be admitted, had the greater advantage in having made a quicker get-away, but Leslie Manor had many bewildering turns and corners, and when one has been an inmate of a house less than—well, we won’t specify the length of time—one cannot be blamed for growing confused. Jack had made for the very door Tweedle-dum had advised Tweedle-dee to make for and darted through it muttering as he paused a second to listen: “Gee, I wish I wasn’t so confoundedly long legged!”

No sound coming to his ears from any of the rooms opening upon the corridor into which he had darted, he sprinted down its length until it terminated suddenly in a flight of stairs leading to the lower hall. He had descended about half way when a babel of voices sent him scuttling back again, and a moment later a voice commanded.

“Wesley, hurry up to the south wing. Whoever is in the house certainly tried to make an escape from that quarter.”

“Yas’m. I catches ’em ef dey ’re up dar,” blustered Wesley Watts Mather, hurrying up the stairs and almost whistling to keep his courage up, for your true darkie finds All Saint’s Night an awesome one, and not to be regarded lightly. Moreover, nearly all the electric lights were turned off, only those necessary to light the halls being left on, and this fact made the rooms seem the darker.

Now Jack o’ Lantern’s costume, like Will-o’-the-Wisp’s, had been liberally daubed with phosphorus and he still grasped the electric flash-light which had illuminated his shattered pumpkin. There was no time to stand upon ceremony for Wesley was almost at the top of the stairs. A door stood open at hand and he darted through it into the room, overturning a chair in the darkness.

“Hi, you! I done got you!” shouted his dusky pursuer and burst into the room in hot chase. The next instant the exaltant shout changed to a howl of terror, for in the middle of that room stood a towering motionless figure from which radiated sheets of lightning, one blinding flash darting straight into the terrified darkie’s eyes. “A flash ob lightenin’ what cl’ar par’lyzed me an’ helt ma feet fast to de floo’! Den, befo’ I could get ’em loosen’ dat hant jist lif’ his hoof—yas ma’am, dat was a hoof, not no man’s foot—an’ I ’clar cross ma heart he done hist me froo dat do’ an’ cl’ar down dem stairs. He want no man. He de debbil hissef. No siree, yo’ ain’ gettin’ me back up dem stairs twell some white folks gwine fust. Not me. I knows when ter lie low, I does.” (Goal kicking develops a fellow’s muscles.)

Nor could any amount of urging or scolding prevail, and Miss Stetson, the strong-minded, was obliged to go up to investigate. But though every room was searched there was no sign of mortal being. All the window sashes in Leslie Manor had been rehung in the most approved modern methods and could be raised and lowered without a sound. A porch roof and a slender column are quite as available as flying rings to a born acrobat.

As she was returning from her fruitless search she encountered Miss Woodhull.

“Well?” queried that lady.

“It is not well. If there really was any one in that wing, which I am compelled to doubt, he has made a most amazing escape.”

“Doubt?” repeated Miss Woodhull with no little asperity. “You will hardly doubt the evidence of my own eyesight, will you Miss Stetson? I saw that person cross the gallery and enter the south wing. Be good enough to go down to the gymnasium and call the roll. I desire to know if all the girls are accounted for.”

To judge by Miss Stetson’s expression she was none too well pleased by the principal’s tone. Nevertheless, she repaired to the gym and ignoring Mrs. Bonnell’s assurance that no girls were missing proceeded to call the roll. Of course all responded.

Meanwhile, Miss Woodhull had summoned Jefferson, who if no less superstitious, was backed up by her august presence, and together they mounted the stairs and made a room-to-room inspection, peering into every closet or any possible hiding place. Not a sign of human being was found until they came to the study of Suite 10, then a faint sound was audible in bedroom A beyond.

Quicker than it would seem possible for a person of her proportions to move, Miss Woodhull entered the study, reached the electric switch and turned on the lights, calling at the same moment:

“Who is in that room?”

There was no reply, and the irate lady, speedily covering the distance between the electric switch and the bedroom door, turned on the light in that room also.

There stood Tweedle-dee.

He had removed his mask and was about to don a long gray automobile coat.

“What are you doing here, Beverly, when I gave explicit orders that no one should leave the gymnasium?” demanded Miss Woodhull, frowning portentously upon the delinquent.

“My costume is so thin I was cold. I came up after my coat, Miss Woodhull,” was the smiling answer, spoken quite softly enough to turn away wrath.

“You came in direct disobedience to my orders? You may now remain here for the rest of the evening.”

“Oh please, Miss Woodhull, let me go back. They are to have a reel,” begged her victim.

“No, I have spoken. You will remain in your room.”

Without more ado the defrauded one hurled herself into the middle of the bed, buried her head in the immaculate pillows and burst into a paroxysm of sobs.

“You have brought this upon yourself. Had you obeyed me there would have been no occasion for this punishment.”

“I was freezing! I just won’t stay stived up here while all the girls are having such fun in the gym. It isn’t fair. I haven’t done a single thing but get this coat,” was sobbed from the bed, as a vigorous kick sent the eiderdown cover flying almost in Miss Woodhull’s face. A little more energy would have compassed it.

Miss Woodhull deigned no reply, but turning swept from the room locking the door behind her. She could deal summarily with rebellious pupils. Then the search was resumed under her eagle eye, but without results. Not a creature was to be found, and dismissing her followers she returned to the gym to get Miss Stetson’s report.

“Are all the older pupils present?” she asked.

“They are,” replied Miss Stetson somewhat icily.

“Excepting Beverly Ashby, of course.”

“Beverly Ashby is here. She is standing in the group near the table,” corrected Miss Stetson with some satisfaction.

“Impossible. I have just this moment locked her in her room for disobedience and insolence. You are mistaken.”

“Hardly, as you may convince yourself by merely looking.”

Miss Woodhull did look and for a moment felt as though caught in the spell of that mystic night. Beverly Ashby stood laughing and talking with Sally Conant, Aileen and Mrs. Bonnell, as merry a little Tweedle-dum as one could picture. Miss Woodhull caught her eye and motioned her to approach.

“Ye gods and little fishes,” whispered Beverly to Sally as she left the group and went toward Miss Woodhull. That lady’s expression was most forbidding.

“Why are you here?” she demanded icily.

Beverly looked at her innocently as she answered: “I don’t think I quite understand you, Miss Woodhull.”

“Not understand me? Is your intellect impaired? Did I not order you to remain in your room for the remainder of this evening?”

“No, Miss Woodhull.”

Miss Woodhull turned crimson. Such barefaced audacity was unheard of.

“How did you manage to leave the room, may I inquire?”

“I have not left the room since I entered it at eight o’clock, Miss Woodhull.”

“Mrs. Bonnell,” called the now thoroughly exasperated principal, “did you see Beverly Ashby return to this gymnasium less than ten minutes ago?”

“Beverly has not been out of it, Miss Woodhull. She has been enjoying her refreshments with the other pupils.”

“Ridiculous! Miss Stetson, perhaps you have a clearer idea of facts since I requested you to return to the gymnasium and call the roll. Was Beverly present when you did so?”

“She was standing not ten feet from me, Miss Woodhull. Of this I am positive, because her cap fell from her head as she replied and delayed the response of the girl next on the roll, who stopped to pick it up.”

“I believe you are all irresponsible! These silly Hallowe’en customs have turned your heads. I have never approved such inane proceedings. Why you may as well try to convince me that I, myself, did not enter Suite 10, and that I did not speak to Beverly Ashby in it not ten minutes ago, and leave her there in the middle of her bed weeping and conducting herself like a spoiled child because she could not participate in the closing Virginia Reel. Utter nonsense! Utter nonsense! But we will have no more hoodwinking, rest assured. There has been quite enough already. You may all go to your rooms reels or no reels. I have experienced enough folly for one night—if not much worse.”

For a second there was profound silence, then a general cry of protest arose. To be defrauded of their Virginia Reel for no justifiable reason, and sent to bed before ten o’clock like a lot of naughty children when they really had not done a single thing, was too much.

Petty wept openly. Petty’s griefs, sorrow or joys could invariably find prompt relief in tears or giggles. She existed in a perpetual state of emotion of some sort.

Aileen murmured:

“Look at Miss Stetson’s face. She doesn’t know whether to frown or smile. She will lose her reason presently.”

“Oh, why need the Empress have come in at all. We were having such fun and—” Sally paused significantly.

Beverly nodded a quick comprehension of what the conclusion of Sally’s sentence would have been, and said, under cover of the babel of voices, for even the Empress, stalking along ahead of her rebellious ones could not entirely subdue their protests:

“And I am wondering what we shall find up in Number 10, and especially in bedroom A.” And in spite of those possibilities she laughed softly.

“And not a single mouthful of that delicious spread after those ten miles. I call it a perfect outrage,” muttered Sally like a distant thunder-storm.

Beverly flashed one quizzical, tantalizing glance at her. “Don’t let that worry you,” she said.

“What?” whispered Sally eagerly.

“Hush. Listen to the Empress. Oh, isn’t this the richest you ever heard?”