  “There’s no doubt about it,” said Jeanette, “Betty is the most popular girl in school.” “Not only in school,” amended Dorothy; “she’s the most popular girl in our whole set. The boys all adore her, too.” “Yes, they do,” agreed Lena Carey. “My brother Bob thinks she’s just about all right.” The three, on their way to school, had paused in front of Betty’s house, and she came out and joined them. It was late in October. The McGuires had been back in their city home for several weeks, and both Betty and Jack were in school again. “Do your ears burn, Betty?” asked Dorothy; as they two fell behind the other couple; “for we’ve been throwing the biggest sort of bouquets at you!” “They didn’t hit my ears,” said Betty, laughing. “What sort were they?” “Oh, we just said you’re a disagreeable old thing, and nobody loves you!” “Nothing of the sort!” cried honest Jeanette, turning her head. “We all agreed that you’re a general favorite and the boys like you better than they do any of the rest of us.” “Spare me blushes!” cried Betty. “Which of the boys confided this startling news to you?” “Of course we can see it,” said Lena, “but, to make sure, I asked Brother Bob. I said, says I, ‘Which girl do you like best of all our set?’ and he said, ‘Why, Betty, of course,—doesn’t everybody?’ and I said, ‘Yes.’” “Oh, Lena, you goose!” said Betty, but she was unable to repress a pleased smile at her friends’ talk. It was really true, Betty had become a prodigious favorite among the circle of Boston young people with whom she associated. She was so whole-souled and good-hearted, so ready to help everybody, so merry and full of fun, and withal so unostentatious and simple-mannered, that nobody could help liking her. And though only a little over sixteen years old, an innate spirit of coquetry had begun to show itself, and her dark, roguish eyes and dimpling smile often captivated the boys who belonged to what the school-girls called “our set.” Not that Betty was really romantic. Her coquetry was more mischievous than sentimental, and, though she loved to tease, her warm, generous nature never allowed the teasing to hurt the feelings of another. It was an open secret that both Harry Harper and Ralph Burnett were especial admirers of Betty, and, in an amicable, good-natured way, were rivals for her favor. But Betty was impartial, and at dancing-school or at the little “neighborhood parties” would accept attentions equally from both. However, Betty’s popularity was only a matter of degree, and gay, laughing Dorothy, lovely, quiet Jeanette, and pretty Lena Carey were also favorites in school and out. As the quartet walked along, Lena said: “I’ve a lovely secret to tell you, but as we’re almost at school now, I think I’ll leave it until recess.” “No, tell us now!” clamored the others. “My! but you’re curious!” teased Lena. “No, I won’t tell you now, but I’ll tell you part of it. Just enough to stir up your curiosity a little more. I’m going to have a party!” This was indeed interesting, but not another word would Lena tell, and so all the morning the three eager girls could only wonder what sort of a party it was to be, and how big, and when, and a thousand other important questions. But at recess the four gathered in a corner of the school-yard, and Lena expounded. “It’s a Hallowe’en party,” she said, and then had to wait for their delighted exclamations to pause before she could proceed. “Hallowe’en is a week from Friday,” she went on, “and Mother said last night that I could have a party if I liked. So Bob and I talked it over, and we decided that a ghost party would be fun.” “What is a ghost party?” “How do you mean?” “Oh, just a phantom party!” exclaimed the three listeners all at once. “Well, I haven’t planned it much,” said Lena, “because I thought it would be more fun for us to plan it together.” “What a duck you are!” cried Betty. “I love to plan parties! Can we wear fancy costumes?” “Oh, let’s be witches,” said Dorothy. “We ought to on Hallowe’en, you know.” “Witches or ghosts, either, would be all right,” put in Jeanette. “I suppose you’ll have all the old Hallowe’en tricks, Lena?” “Well, Bob and I said we didn’t want to have those foolish old games, like bobbing for apples and melting lead. They’re so tiresome. But I thought we could make up some new fun.” “I think so, too,” declared Betty. “Anything ghosty or witchy, or any sort of fortune-telling, you mean, I suppose.” “Yes. Do you know any new tricks of that sort?” “I’m not sure that I do, but we can make some up.” They all knew Betty’s cleverness in making up games, so they felt sure something could be done. “There’s the school-bell,” said Lena. “You all come to my house this afternoon, and we’ll plan it all out.” The girls agreed to this, and then they returned to the school-room, where, I am sorry to say, their rebellious pencils persisted in drawing witches or broomsticks, instead of copying the plaster cast of a classic leaf form which was their task for the day. Not only that afternoon but several others were spent in arranging the details of the Hallowe’en party. Jeanette, who was inclined to the serious rather than the grotesque, favored the idea of the guests appearing as Druids, who, she said, were really the originators of Allhallowe’en. But Dorothy declared that Druids were poky old things and that witches were lots more fun. So, as Betty and Lena insisted on ghosts, the invitations were finally compiled to read like this: DRUIDS, WITCHES, AND GHOSTS This gave the guests ample choice of costume, and if they chose they could come simply draped in sheets and pillow-cases, as at the old-time phantom parties. Betty, after much deliberation, decided to wear a witch’s costume. And very becoming it proved. The skirt of scarlet silk was sprinkled with strange hieroglyphics and mystic signs which had been cut from black silk and pasted on. The pointed scarlet bodice was laced up over a soft white neckerchief, and over all was a long black cloak lined with red. Then she had a high, peaked hat, made after the most approved style for witches, and on her shoulder was perched a toy cat. This furry animal was of most lifelike effect, and his green eyeballs blared by reason of tiny electric lights concealed in his head. Betty carried a broomstick wound with red ribbons, and, with high-heeled red shoes, she made a complete picture of the traditional witch. Jack was a ghost. But he disdained the idea of a ghost in white. “No,” he said, “I want a real ghost’s robe. It must be made of thin, almost transparent, fluttery stuff—yards and yards of it—and of a sort of brownish smoke color.” Mrs. McGuire caught his idea, and herself fashioned a voluminous robe of smoke-colored chiffon. It was made something like a college gown, but there were several of them, and after donning a sort of ulster-shaped garment of dull brown muslin, Jack put on one after another of the floppy gauze robes. The effect was fine. The least breath of air sent the shimmering material into billowy waves, and the “ghost” almost seemed to disappear at times. A deep cowl-like hood nearly concealed his face, and made his features dim and indistinguishable, and when Jack stalked about with theatrical stride, and gave voice to fearful, hollow groans, he seemed as fine a ghost as one could wish. Jeanette and Constance had chosen to wear Druid’s costume, and, as several others had like taste, quite a number of shapes in flowing classic raiment lent their dignified effect to the party. There were many white ghosts, some weird and terrible ones, several witches and wizards, and many nondescript costumes. The guests assembled on time, as all were anxious not to miss any of the fun. When Betty and Jack arrived at the Carey house and rang the door-bell, the door swung slowly open, and though no one was in sight, a sepulchral groan greeted them. Then a strange-looking, cloaked figure, with a lighted Jack-o’-lantern for a head, ushered them into the drawing-room. Betty herself had helped to arrange this room, but when the party began, it looked even more effective than when they had decorated it. A STRANGE-LOOKING, CLOAKED FIGURE, WITH A LIGHTED JACK-O’-LANTERN FOR A HEAD, USHERED THEM INTO THE DRAWING-ROOM The room was very dimly lighted, and the walls had been hung with black muslin on which were painted grinning skulls and cross-bones in gleaming white. The big wood fire at one end of the room shone through a screen of red transparent stuff, which gave a crimson glow to the room. Jack-o’-lanterns were all about, and the candles inside them lit up the grotesque faces of the pumpkins. Bob Carey, who announced that he was the ghost of Hamlet’s father, introduced the other ghosts to each other. “This,” he would say, indicating a sheeted figure, “is the ghost of Banquo. We used to play together as boys. And here is the ghost of a man who died a-laughing. You will observe his laughter when I tickle him.” The ghost, when tickled, would give howls of demoniac laughter, in which the other guests involuntarily joined. When all the weird-looking figures had assembled, the fun began. Another room had been prepared as a fortune-telling room, and into this each guest was invited to go, alone, to learn his or her fate. Just who was the fortune-teller was a great secret. No one outside of the Carey family knew who it was who greeted the seekers for knowledge as they entered one by one. But apparently the strange being knew his clients, for many jokes and secrets were exposed, and often the victim came out giggling, but looking a trifle sheepish. Jack was really very fond of Dorothy. Indeed, she was his favorite of all the girls—after Betty, of course. So, when Dorothy went into the Room of the Fates to learn what future fortune might befall her, and came out holding a card in her hand, the others clamored to know what had been told her. Dorothy looked mysterious and refused to tell, but when the boys and girls insisted on seeing what talisman had been given her, and she showed the card, a roar of laughter went up from all. It was a playing-card, the jack of hearts, and ghostly Jack himself seemed quite satisfied with the episode. Every one who went into the Room of the Fates returned with a talisman indicative of their future career. It might be a doctor’s diploma or a fireman’s badge. It might be a thimble, indicating spinsterhood, or a spray of orange-blossom, indicating matrimony. But in every case the souvenir bore sufficient meaning to prove that the fate-dispenser was some one who knew the individual traits of his auditors. When it was Betty’s turn, she entered the Fate Room, determined to guess, if possible, who the wizard was. All of the young people of their set were in evidence as guests, so the mysterious fortune-teller must be some older person or a stranger. As Betty entered, she was met by three draped figures, representing the three Fates. These, she knew, were Harry Harper, Ralph Burnett, and Elmer Ellis, for she and Lena had invited these boys to act these parts. They were robed in brown, flowing draperies, which they did not manage in classic fashion, but kicked about in derision. One carried a distaff, one a ball of cord, and one a pair of shears, in imitation of the traditional three. The room was draped with white sheets, and at the far end was a sort of throne on which sat the Master of the Fates. He was gorgeously robed in a scarlet satin suit and a purple velvet cape edged with ermine. A flowing white wig, bushy white beard and eyebrows, completely disguised his features, while a high, peaked hat added to his wizardy effect. Grouped about him were a globe, a map of the stars, a divining-wand, a great Book of Fate, and all sorts of mysterious-looking instruments and paraphernalia. Bats, cut out of paper, swung by invisible threads from the ceiling, and were set fluttering by sly puffs from bellows by the three Fates, who scampered about, on mischief bent. In the white room were several black cats also. These added greatly to the weird effect, and, as they were good-natured old tabbies that Lena had borrowed from neighbors, they just stalked about and lay dozing in the white-draped chairs. The three Fates ushered Betty with great pomp and ceremony to the chair facing the wizard, and begged her to be seated. “What do you most want to know?” droned out the magician, as he gravely wagged his head at her. “Who you are!” said Betty, so suddenly that he fairly jumped. At this the three Fates doubled up in gleeful antics, but the wizard recovered himself, and continued in slow, deep tones: “That you may know sometime, but not now. I will now foretell your fate.” “Do,” said Betty, wondering where she had heard that full, deep voice before. “You have strange adventures awaiting you. You will travel by land and sea, and great good fortune shall be ever yours. In the years to come, you will meet your destiny. The stars ordain that a fitting mate shall claim you, but it will be neither of the two Fates who are now dogging your footsteps.” At this Harry and Ralph gave forth despairing groans and pretended to pommel one another. Betty giggled, but the wizard remained grave. THE THREE FATES USHERED BETTY WITH GREAT POMP AND CEREMONY TO THE CHAIR FACING THE WIZARD THE THREE FATES USHERED BETTY WITH GREAT POMP AND CEREMONY TO THE CHAIR FACING THE WIZARD “That you may know your fate,” he went on, “I give you this talisman.” Now, Betty had no mind to be teased as Dorothy had been, and receiving the talisman from the wizard, she slipped it into her pocket. Then, as the wizard dismissed her, she rose to take leave. “Thou mayst not depart until thou shalt exhibit thy talisman,” said Harry Harper, striking a dramatic attitude before the door. “Oh, yes, I mayst,” said Betty. “Avaunt thee, Fate, and let me pass, or I cast o’er thee my magic spell!” “Already hast thou done that,” said Harry, his tone exaggeratedly sentimental. “Let the witch pass!” interrupted Elmer Ellis, and, amid the chuckling exclamations of the three, Betty departed. “What did you get?” “What’s your talisman?” cried those who awaited her. “Let’s see your fate!” But Betty laughingly showed her empty hands, and could not be persuaded to admit that she had received anything. But as soon as she could get a moment unobserved, she took out her talisman to examine it. It was a bright new cent, dated the present year. “Oh,” said Betty to herself, “a penny! Hal Pennington! I thought I had heard that voice before! What a little witch Lena is, to keep it so secret! I never dreamed of his coming.” Betty was glad he had come, for though they had met only a few times, they were good friends, and it was a compliment indeed that he had given her himself as a fate! Of course it was just for that evening, and Betty thought it was very jolly. With shining eyes and rosy cheeks, she rejoined the others. “Let’s play a joke on Betty,” said Dorothy to Jeanette, as it neared supper-time. “How do you mean?” “This way. Lena says we girls each have to select our partner for supper. She says she won’t have the old-fashioned way of pairing off by matched nuts or flowers or things. Each girl has to ask a boy herself. Now, of course, nobody will ask the boy she really likes best. I wouldn’t myself!” “Well,” asked Jeanette, “what’s the joke on Betty, then? She won’t ask either Harry or Ralph, and we know she likes them best.” “That’s just it! Of course Lena will make her choice last, as she’s hostess. Let’s fix it so Betty will be next to last, and let’s leave those two boys till the last. Then Betty will have to choose one or the other of them, and that will be a good joke on her.” “Yes, it will! And it isn’t a mean joke, either. If there are only those two, she’ll have to select one.” “But how can we be sure nobody else chooses either Harry or Ralph?” “Oh, nobody will. They’ll know enough to leave them for Betty. But I’ll whisper to Constance and a few of the girls to make sure.” The scheme worked well. Lena, in burlesque authority, ordered each fair damsel to choose the knight she most admired, to escort her to supper. This made great fun, as each girl deliberately ignored the boy she liked best, and chose a brother or a comparative stranger. Betty had made up her mind to choose Jack, and thus evade an embarrassing decision between her two admirers. But, as one girl after another was called, Betty began to surmise there was some joke in progress. But Lena said to her, casually, “You and I will go last, Betty,” and so she really suspected little. But at last no boys were left but Ralph and Harry, and, as Lena announced with twinkling eyes that Betty must make her choice, she saw at once that the girls had pre-arranged this. It was a difficult situation. Betty had no wish to offend either boy by choosing the other, and she was decidedly in a quandary. She stood looking at them and smiling. “It’s so hard to choose between you,” she said, provokingly, but really to gain time. Suddenly she bethought herself of the penny in her pocket! Ah, here was a way to circumvent those mischievous girls! “I’m sorry,” she said, with a little sigh, “that I can’t choose either of you very gentlemanly appearing boys. But my Fate was foretold me, and the talisman that I have here bids me await the coming of the knight appointed for me by Destiny.” Betty held up her bright penny with a roguish look. “What do you mean?” exclaimed Lena, who knew nothing of what Hal had said to Betty in the Room of the Fates. “Ah, here he comes! Here’s the Bad Penny, who always turns up when he’s wanted!” Hal was just entering the room, his first appearance except in his disguise as “Fate.” He had removed the uncomfortable wig and whiskers, but still wore the gorgeous costume. The smile with which Betty greeted him quite took away the sting of being called a Bad Penny, and he said gaily: “A Lucky Penny, rather, to be chosen by such a merry witch!” So the girls were foiled in their little plot, and Lena, accepting her defeat good-naturedly, declared she had to choose both the remaining knights, and taking an arm of each, she followed the procession to the dining-room. The feast was abundant and the guests very merry. More fortune-testing was provided in the mottoes and snapdragon, and at last the “fortune-cake” was cut. This great confection was almost like a bride-cake, save that its frosting was red and chocolate instead of white. It was decorated with tiny witches and black cats, which were, of course, confectionery, and candles were burning all round it. In it had been baked a thimble, signifying spinsterhood; a gold ring, betokening matrimony; a penny, meaning wealth; a gold pen for literary fame; a button for a bachelor; and many other tiny emblems of fortune, which were arranged only one to a slice. By dint of clever manoeuvering Lena arranged that Betty should get the slice with the penny in it, and this caused a shout of laughter at Betty’s expense. But she didn’t mind, and only glanced merrily at Hal, as she said: “We seem to be irrevocably fated, don’t we?” “I’m satisfied to have it so,” he replied gallantly, making a gesture like a real stage suitor; and Betty returned saucily: “So am I—during supper-time!” After supper they assembled in the “black room” for a fagot party. The screen was removed from the blazing wood fire, and all sat on the floor, or on cushions or ottomans clustered round the big fireplace. Each was given a “fagot,” a bundle of tiny sticks tied together with red and black ribbons, and each, in turn, threw the fagot into the fire. While the fagot burned, the thrower was to tell a ghost story, which must stop as soon as the sticks were entirely consumed. This was a most exasperating performance, for in nearly every instance, just as the thrilling climax of the story was nearly reached, the sticks burned out, and the narrator was not allowed to proceed. Hal Pennington’s was one of the most interesting. “Mine is a fearful tale,” he said, as he threw his fagot on the fire, “and I will tell it rapidly that you may all hear the marvelous and almost incredible dÉnouement.” The others crowded closer to hear, for Hal spoke in low, mysterious tones. “It was a house up on Cape Cod,” he began, “an old-fashioned, rambling sort of house, that was said to be haunted. It had long borne this reputation, and one room in particular, a small room at the end of a long ball-room, was said to be the room where the ghost appeared. The people who told about it always shuddered, and refused to tell what horrible shapes the ghost assumed when it made itself visible.” Harry Harper gave a scared sort of gasping groan, and then the other boys groaned dismally, while the girls shivered and giggled both at once. “A lot of us fellows,” went on Hal, “didn’t believe in this ghost, and we decided to spend a night in the old house and test it.” “Did no one live in the house?” asked Betty. “Oh, no; it hadn’t been occupied for years, because of the ghost. Well, eight of us went there one evening, and one, Phil Hardy, said he would go into the haunted room and lock himself in, and we others must keep watch in the ball-room.” “Why did he lock himself in?” asked Lena. “Because he thought the ghost was some person playing a trick on us. He wasn’t afraid of a ghost, but he was of a real marauder. So we other boys stayed in the big, dark, empty ball-room. That is, it was nearly empty—only a few chairs and sofas ranged against the wall. We hid behind these, having previously locked all the doors. You see, we were willing to receive the ghost, but we didn’t care to have burglars coming in. The story was that the ghost came from the hall into the ball-room, traversed the full length of that, and then entered the little anteroom where Phil was keeping watch. “For a long time we crouched silently behind our chairs, and then—then we heard the latch of the door click! We knew it was securely locked, but our hair rose on our heads as we heard it open and close again. Then footsteps——” “Hollow footsteps!” interrupted Harry. “Yes, hollow footsteps——” “And clanking chains,” put in Harry, again. “Look here, who’s telling this?” demanded Hal. “Well, hollow footsteps and clanking chains resounded on our ears, as we heard the ghost glide the full length of that long room! “Half scared to death, we peeped out from behind our chairs, but could see nothing, though we all heard the footsteps. “Then, though it didn’t move, we heard the door open into the room where Phil was, and close again. “We trembled and turned cold with a mysterious horror, when suddenly an awful shriek broke the silence!” There was a breathless pause, and then Betty exclaimed: “Oh, what was it?” “I can’t tell you,” said Hal; “my fagot has burned out!” “Oh, you fraud!” cried Lena; “you timed it so on purpose!” “Perhaps I did,” said Hal, smiling; “anyhow, there isn’t a word of truth in my yarn, and I confess I didn’t know quite how to end it up myself!” “Pooh! that’s no sort of a ghost story!” said Lena, but the others all agreed that it was the best one, and Hal must have the prize. Then the party broke up, and the ghosts and witches went for their more prosaic hats and wraps. “Thank you, no; Jack will take care of me,” said Betty, as Hal Pennington asked to escort her home. “Then mayn’t I go to see you to-morrow?” he said. “Remember, you chose me to-night in preference to your two devoted swains.” “That was to disguise my real preference,” said Betty, roguishly; “and, besides, I had to choose you, because it was so decreed by Fate!” “There’s many a true word spoken in jest,” declared Hal, theatrically, and taking a couple of stagy strides across the hall with eyes rolled up to the ceiling; and then, after a chorus of general good nights, Betty and Jack went home. |
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