ALL HALLOW EVE FESTIVITIES
"I'm going to choose Queen Bess! I've made a lovely ruff, stands away
up above my head. And Mrs. Archibald, the matron, has bought me four
yards of chintz that might be brocade--if it was!" said Florita
Sheraton, from the gymnasium floor, hugging her arms for warmth.
"Four yards! That'll never go around you, Fatty!" declared Fanny
Dimock, with playful frankness.
"Well, it'll have to go as far as it may, then. It cost twenty cents.
That left five only for the white and gilt paper for my ruff and
crown."
"Was Queen Elizabeth fat?" asked Dorothy, from her now favorite perch
upon the high wooden horse.
"What does that matter, whether she were or not? The plot is to act
like a Queen when once you get her clothes on," observed Winifred,
judicially. "I wonder if you can do that, Flo. Or if it needs another
yard of cloth to make you real stately--she ought to have a train,
oughtn't she--I might lend you another sixpence. If Miss Muriel would
let me."
"Don't ask for it, Win. You've done so splendidly ever since--"
"That time I didn't! Well, I'd rather not ask for it. Twenty-five
cents was the limit she set."
"Wants to stimulate our ingenuity, maybe, to see how well we can dress
on twenty-five cents a week!" laughed Ernesta Smith, who had no
ingenuity at all. "If it weren't for Dolly here, I'd have to give it
up, but she's fixed me a lovely, spooky rig that'll just make you all
goose-fleshy."
"What is it? Tell," begged the others, but Ernesta shook her head.
"No, indeedy! It's the chance of my life to create an impression and I
shan't spoil it beforehand. It'll be all the more stunning because I'm
such a bean-pole. Dorothy says that Florrie and I must walk together
in the parade."
"Oh! I hope it will be a grand success!" cried Winifred, seizing
Bessie Walters and going through a lively calisthenic exercise with
her. "We've always wanted to have a Hallowe'en Party, but the faculty
have never before said yes. It's all Dorothy's doings that we have it
now."
A shadow fell over Dolly's bright face. It was quite true that she had
suggested this little festivity to the good Bishop. She had told him
other things as well which hurt him to hear and made him the more
willing to consent to any bit of gayety she might propose. She had
said:
"There is somebody in this school that doesn't like me. Yes, dear
Bishop, it's true; though I don't know who and I've tried to be
friendly to everybody. That is to all I know. The high-up Form girls
don't appear to see me at all, though they're friendly enough with
lots of the other younger ones. I heard Edna Ross-Ross saying to
another that all the strange, horrid things that had happened at Oak
Knowe this autumn began with my coming. She'd been told that I was a
charity scholar, belonging to one of the servants. She didn't object
to charity girls, so long as she knew they were of _good_ family, but
she drew the line at _servants'_ families. She said that Gwendolyn had
heard you, yourself, tell Miss Tross-Kingdon that I was mischievous
and she must look out for me."
"My dear, my dear! Surely no fair-minded girl could have so
misunderstood me, even admitting that I did say that--which I fail to
remember. As to that silly notion about the 'haunting' business, Betty
Calvert's niece should be able to laugh at that. Absurd, absurd! Now
tell me again what your fancy is about this Hallowe'en Party."
"Why, sir, things can't be done without folks do them, can they?"
"That's a poser; but I'll grant your premises. Proceed with the
argument," answered the old gentleman, merrily.
"Well, I thought, somehow, that if everybody was allowed to dress in
character and wear some sort of a mask, the one who had played such
pranks and frightened Grace and the maids might be found out. If
anybody in this house owns such a mask as that horrid one and is mean
enough to scare little girls, he or she wouldn't lose so good a chance
of scaring a lot more. Don't you think so? And--and--there's something
else I ought to tell, but am afraid. Miss Muriel gets so stern every
time the thing is mentioned that I put it off and off. I can tell you
though, if you wish."
"Certainly, I wish you would."
The gentleman's face had grown as serious now, and almost as stern, as
the Lady Principal's at similar times; and Dorothy gave a sigh to
bolster her own courage as she gravely announced:
"When I took out my white shoes to wear them last evening, there was a
skull and cross-bones on each one, done with red paint: and the tube
of vermilion had been taken from my own oil color box. Now--what do
you think of that?"
Her listener pursed his lips in a silent whistle, which indicated
great amazement in a man like him, but he said nothing. Only, for a
moment he drew the girl to him and looked searchingly into her brown
eyes. But they looked back at him with a clear, straightforward gaze
that pleased him and made him exclaim:
"Well, little Betty--whom you always seem to me--we're in a scrape
worthy of old Bellevieu. We've got to get out of it, somehow. You try
your scheme of playing masked detective first. If you fail in proving
our innocence and some other youngster's roguery, I'll tackle the
matter myself. For this nonsense is hurtful to Oak Knowe. That I am
compelled to admit. 'Behold how great a matter a little fire
kindleth.' A miserable rumor started has wide-spread effect. I could
preach you a sermon on that topic, but I won't. Run along back to your
mates and try it. Just whisper 'Hallowe'en Party' to any one of them
and see if every girl at Oak Knowe doesn't know beforehand that after
chapel, to-night, the Lady Principal will announce this intended
event. Now, good day, my dear 'Betty,' and for the present, to oblige
me, just put those decorated shoes out of sight."
This talk had been two days before: and with the Lady Principal's
announcement of the affair had been coupled the decision:
"Those of you young ladies that have no costume suitable may expend
their week's allowance in material for one. Of course, this restricts
the expense to utmost simplicity. No one may run in debt, nor borrow
more than suggestions from her neighbors. Under these conditions I
hope you will have the happy time you anticipate."
So they were dismissed in gay spirits, to gather in groups everywhere
to discuss costumes and the possibility of evolving a fetching one at
the modest cost of a quarter dollar. By the afternoon following, most
of the preparations had been made. Some of the maids had lent a hand
to the sewing and the good-natured matron had planned and purchased
and cut till her arms ached. But she had entered into the spirit of
the occasion as heartily as any girl of them all; and the sixth and
seventh Form students, who rather fancied themselves too grown-up for
such frivolity, had willingly helped the preparations of the lower
school pupils.
Only one who might have enjoyed the fun was out of it. Gwendolyn was
in the hospital, in the furthest west wing: for the time being a
nervous and physical wreck from her experience at the Maiden's Bath.
Even yet nobody dared speak to her of that terrible time, for it made
her so hysterical; and for some reason she shrank from Dorothy's
visits of inquiry and sympathy more than from any other's. But this
seemed ungrateful to Lady Jane, her mother, now in residence at the
school to care for and be near her daughter. She determined this
"nonsense" must be overcome and had especially begged Dolly to come to
the sick room, dressed for the party, and to relate in detail all that
had happened on that dreadful day.
So Dorothy had slipped away from her mates, to oblige Lady Jane, but
dreading to meet the girl she had saved, yet who still seemed to
dislike her. She wore her gipsy costume of scarlet, a little costume
that she had worn at home at a similar party, and a dainty scarlet
mask would be added later on. She looked so graceful and winsome, as
she tapped at the door, that Lady Jane exclaimed as she admitted her:
"Why, you darling! What a picture you have made of yourself! I must
give you a good kiss--two of them! One for myself and Gwen and one for
the Aunt Betty you love."
Then the lady led her in to the low chair beside Gwen's bed, with a
tenderness so motherly that Dorothy lost all feeling of awkwardness
with the sick girl.
"Now, my child, I must hear every detail of that afternoon. My darling
daughter is really much better. I want her to get over this dread of
what is past, and safely so. I'm sure your story of the matter will
help her to think of it calmly."
She waited for Dorothy to begin, and at last she did, making as light
of the affair as of an ordinary playground happening.
"Why, it wasn't anything. Really, it wasn't, except that Gwen took
such a cold and grieved so because other folks had to find where the
hidden cascade was. She just got so eager with her drawing that she
didn't notice how close she got to the edge of the rock. If I had
stayed awake, instead of going to sleep, I should have seen and caught
her before she slipped. I can't forgive myself for that."
The Lady Jane shook a protesting head.
"That was no fault in you, Dorothy. Go on."
"When I waked up, she was in the water, and she didn't understand how
to get out. She couldn't swim, you know, but I can. So, course, I just
jumped in and caught her. There was a big branch bent down low and I
caught hold of that. She caught hold of me, but not both my arms, and
so--so--I could pull us both out."
Dorothy did not add that her arm had been so strained she could not
yet use it without pain.
"Oh! thank God for you, my dear!" cried the mother, laying her hand
upon Gwendolyn's shoulder, who had turned toward the wall and lay with
her face hidden. "And after that? Somebody said you stripped off your
own jacket and wrapped it around her."
"It wasn't as nice as hers, but you see she was cold, and I thought
she wouldn't mind for once. I borrowed her bathrobe once and she
didn't like it, and now she'd borrowed my jacket and didn't like that,
I suppose."
"Like it! Doubtless it helped to save her life, too, or her from
pneumonia. Oh! if you hadn't been there! If--" sobbed the mother.
"But there wasn't any 'if,' Lady Jane; 'cause if I hadn't seen the
falls and made her see them, too, she wouldn't have been near hand. If
she'd gone with the girl she wanted to, nothing at all would have
happened. Some way it got mixed up so she had to walk with me and
that's all. Only once we got out of the water onto the ground, I
started yelling, and I must have done it terrible loud. Else Mr. Hugh
wouldn't have heard me and followed my yells. He'd gone long past us,
hunting with his gun, and he heard me and came hurrying to where the
sound was. So he just put his coat around her and made her get up and
walk. He had to speak to her real cross before she would, she was so
dazed and mis'able. But she did at last, and he knew all those woods
by heart. And the directions of them, which way was north, or south,
or all ways.
"It was a right smart road he took for roughness, so that sometimes we
girls stumbled and fell, but he wouldn't stop. He kept telling us
that, and saying: 'Only a little further now!' though it did seem to
the end of the world. And by and by we came out of the woods to a
level road, and after a time to a little farmhouse. Mr. Hugh made the
farmer hitch up his horse mighty quick and wrap us in blankets and
drove us home--fast as fast. And, that's all. I'm sorry Gwendolyn took
such a cold and I hope when she gets well she'll forgive me for going
to sleep that time. And, please, Lady Jane, may I go now? Some of the
girls are waiting for me, 'cause they want me in the parade."
"Surely, my dear: and thank you for telling me so long a story. I
wanted it at first hands and I wanted Gwendolyn to hear it, too. Good
night and a happy, happy evening. It's really your own party, I hear;
begged by yourself from the Bishop for your schoolmates' pleasure. I
trust the lion's share of that pleasure may be your own."
As Dorothy left the room, with her graceful farewell curtsey, the girl
on the bed turned back toward her mother and lifted a tear-wet face.
"Why, Gwen, dearest, surely she didn't make you nervous again, did
she? She described your accident so simply and in such a matter of
course way. She seemed to blame the whole matter on herself; first her
discovery of the waterfall, then her falling asleep. She is a brave,
unselfish girl. Hoping you 'would forgive' her--for saving your
life!"
"Oh, mother, don't! You can't guess how that hurts me. 'Forgive her'!
Can she ever in this world forgive me!" And again the invalid's face
was hidden in the covers, while her body shook with sobs; that
convinced Lady Jane that nobody, not even her anxious self, knew how
seriously ill her daughter was.
"My child, my child, don't grieve so! It is all past and gone. I made
a mistake in forcing you to meet the companion of your disaster and
hearing the story from her, but please do forget it for my sake. You
are well--or soon will be; and the sooner you gain some strength,
you'll be as happy as ever."
"I shall never be happy again--never. I want to go away from here. I
never want to see Oak Knowe again!" wailed Gwendolyn with fresh tears.
"Go away? Why, darling, you have always been happier here than in any
other place. At home you complain of your brothers, and you think my
home rules harder than the Lady Principal's. Besides, I've just
settled the boys at school and with you here, I felt free to make all
my plans for a winter abroad. Don't be nonsensical. Don't spoil
everything by foolishness concerning an accident that ended so well.
I don't understand you, dearest, I certainly do not."
Assembly Hall had been cleared for the entertainment. Most of the
chairs had been removed, only a row of them being left around the
walls for the benefit of the invited guests. These were the friends
and patrons of the school from the near by city and from the country
houses round about.
Conspicuous among these was old John Gilpin in his Sunday suit, his
long beard brushed till each hair hung smooth and separate, his bald
head polished till it shone, and himself the most ill at ease of all
the company. Beside him sat the little widow, Robin's mother; without
whom, John had declared, he would "not stir hand nor hoof" toward any
such frivolity, and the good Dame abetting him in the matter. She had
said:
"No, Mrs. Locke, no more he shall. I can't go, it's bread-settin'
night, and with my being so unwieldy and awkward like--I'd ruther by
far stay home. Robin will be all right. The dear lad's become the very
apple of my eye and I e'enamost dread his gettin' well enough to go to
work again. A bit of nonsense, like this of Dorothy's gettin'-up, 'll
do you more good nor medicine. I've said my say and leave it said. If
John could go in his clean smock, he'd be all right, even to face that
Lady Principal that caught him cavortin' like a silly calf. But
'twould be an obligement to me if you'd go along and keep him in
countenance."
Of course, Mrs. Locke could do no less for a neighbor who had so
befriended her and Robin: so here she was, looking as much the lady in
her cheap black gown as any richer woman there. Also, so absorbed she
was in keeping old John from trying to "cut and run," or doing
anything else that would have mortified his wife.
The Lady Principal had herself hesitated somewhat before the cottagers
were invited, fearing their presence would be offensive to more
aristocratic guests, but the good Bishop had heartily endorsed
Dorothy's plea for them and she accepted his decision.
In any case, she need not have feared. For suddenly there sounded from
the distance the wailing of a violin, so weird and suggestive of
uncanny things, that all talking ceased and all eyes turned toward the
wide entrance doors, through which the masqueraders must come.
Everything within the great room had been arranged with due attention
to "effect." In its center a great "witches' caldron" hung suspended
from three poles, and a lantern hung above it, where the bobbing for
apples would take place. Dishes of salt, witch-cakes of meal,
jack-o'-lanterns dimly lighted, odors of brimstone, daubs of
phosphorus here and there--in fact, everything that the imaginations
of the maskers could conceive, or reading suggest as fit for
Hallowe'en, had been prepared.
The doleful music drew nearer and nearer and as the lights in the Hall
went out, leaving only the pale glimmer of the lanterns, even the most
indifferent guests felt a little thrill run through their nerves. Then
the doors slowly opened and there came through them a ghostly company
that seemed endless. From head to foot each "ghost" was draped in
white, even the extended hand which held a lighted taper was gloved in
white, and the whole procession moved slowly to the dirge which the
unseen musicians played.
After a circuit of the great room, they began a curious dance which,
in reality, was a calisthenic movement familiar to the everyday life
of these young actors, but, as now performed, seemed weird and
nerve-trying even to themselves. Its effect upon others was even more
powerful and upon John Gilpin, to send him into a shivering fit that
alarmed Mrs. Locke.
"Why, Mr. Gilpin, what's the matter? Are you ill?"
"Seems if--seems if--my last hour's come! Needn't tell
me--them's--just--just plain schoolgirls! They--they're spooks right
out the graveyard, sure as preachin' and I wish--I hadn't come! And
there's no end of 'em! And it means--somethin' terr'ble! I wish--do
you suppose--Ain't there a winder some'ers nigh? Is this Hall high up?
Could I--could I climb out it?"
The poor little widow was growing very nervous herself. Her
companion's positive terror was infecting her and she felt that if
this were her promised "fun" she'd had quite enough of it, and would
be as glad as he to desert the gathering.
Suddenly the movement changed. The slowly circling ghosts fell into
step with the altered music, which, still a wailing minor, grew fast
and faster, until with a crash its mad measure ended. At that instant,
and before the lights were turned on, came another most peculiar
sound. It was like the patter of small hoofs, the "ih-ih-ihing" of
some terrified beast; and all ears were strained to listen while
through those open doors came bounding and leaping, as if to escape
its own self--What?
From her perch on Dr. Winston's knees, Miss Millikins-Pillikins
identified it as:
"The debbil! The debbil!"
Old John sprang to his feet and shrieked, while, as if attracted by
his cry, the horrible object made straight for him and with one
vicious thrust of its dreadful head knocked him down.