GHOST OR GIRL
ALLISON, struggling into her jacket as she ran, hurried along the path
through Clovercroft to overtake Kitty and Katie on their way home at
noon.
"Wait!" she called, waving her gloves frantically to attract their
attention as they looked back from the woodland gate.
"I have some news for you." She was almost breathless when she caught up
with them.
"What do you think of this? Ida and Lloyd have had a falling out of some
kind. Neither one will say what it's about, but they don't have anything
more to do with each other, and Ida has resigned from the Shadow Club.
She told me just now to tell you all that she couldn't come any more,
and that we might as well invite somebody else to join in her place. She
didn't give any reason for leaving, and you know when she puts on that
dignified, grown-up air of hers, one doesn't feel at liberty to ask
questions. I told her I was sorry, and started to beg her to change her
mind, but she wouldn't listen; just smiled in a mournful sort of way as
if she had lost her last friend, and hurried past me.
"I asked Betty if she knew what was the matter, and she said it must be
a quarrel of some kind, for Lloyd was dreadfully unhappy. After she came
back from Locust yesterday evening she threw herself across the bed and
cried, and cried, and wouldn't tell what for. She wouldn't go down to
supper, either, and afterward, when Betty fixed her something on the
chafing-dish, she barely tasted it."
"We'll have a gay old club meeting to-morrow," said Katie, "with Ida
gone and Lloyd in the dumps and Betty unable to come, on account of her
cold--"
"And her head so full of the book she's writing that she can't take any
interest in anything else," interrupted Kitty. "It's too bad that
there's only half a club left. Three of us can't get enough things ready
to have a fair by Easter."
"That isn't the worst of it," answered Katie. "The three of us alone
never can get even with Mittie Dupong and carry out our hoodoo plot to
punish her, because we are all outside of the seminary. I'm tired of
having the girls laugh whenever they see me eating an apple and make
remarks about C. D."
"And I'm tired of hearing everlastingly about that old valentine!"
chimed in Kitty. "If the other girls won't help us I think we ought to
act on Ida's suggestion and take in some new members who would."
"Lucy Smith would be glad to join in Ida's place," said Allison. "She
rooms across the hall from Mittie, and she'd dare do anything that we
would suggest."
"And Retta Long's room is just above, and she's a good friend of ours,"
added Kitty. "Let's talk it over with Betty and Lloyd as soon as we get
back to the seminary after dinner, and if they're willing we'll swear in
the new members at recess."
"All right," assented Katie. "I'll hurry back and meet you here at the
depot as soon as I get through dinner. We'll settle this before night."
But much running back and forth and consulting and discussing was
necessary before the new addition to the club was in full working order.
Lloyd and Betty were willing to admit Retta and Lucy, but Retta and Lucy
were not willing to join unless their roommates were included in the
invitation; and their roommates, Dora Deersly and Rose Parker, were not
willing to spend any time in making fancy articles for the fair. It was
too near the holidays, they said. They needed all their spare time for
the presents they were trying to finish before Christmas.
"Couldn't they be sort of honorary members, and not have to work?"
suggested Kitty. "They needn't even meet with us on Saturdays, if
they'll help us play ghost to scare Mittie."
"Yes, there are some secret societies, like the Masons, that have
different orders," Allison said. "Why couldn't we have, too? We'll be
one kind of shadow, the kind that casts the influence, and the other
four can be another kind and do the mischief. We can call ourselves the
G. G.'s for good ghosts. Betty, can't you fix up something for the
others?"
"Yes," answered Betty, "if you'll give me enough time."
She turned to the little note-book she always carried, and began looking
over a list of words on the last page. The girls often laughed at
Betty's devotion to the dictionary. Frequently they found her poring
over its pages, picking out new words that pleased her fancy, as they
would pick out the kernels of a nut, and jotting them down for future
use.
"Here it is," she cried, presently, "wraith! It means spirit or
apparition. They can be the wicked wraiths--the W. W.'s. No," she added,
as another chosen word caught her eye. "They can be the W. V.'s.
Wraiths of Vengeance; that sounds better. That will fit in with the
story of the veiled lady who haunts the seminary, because it is supposed
she comes back to try to wreak vengeance on the people who wronged her.
Allison, you tell little Elise that story to-night, and let her spread
it among the primary grades, and it'll be all over the school by the
time the girls are ready to perform, that the Wraith of Vengeance has
been seen again, floating near Mittie Dupong's door."
There was no regular meeting of the Shadow Club that Saturday. Mrs.
Walton had not been taken into the secret of the Wraiths of Vengeance,
and when it was explained to her that Betty had a cold and could not
come, and Lloyd and Ida had had a misunderstanding and were not on good
terms, she was quite willing to compensate the girls for their
disappointment by inviting Lucy Smith and Retta Long to tea.
Some of the neighbours came in to spend the evening, so Allison and
Kitty took their guests up-stairs to make some experiments with a magic
lantern which had often afforded them amusement. Little Elise, who had
seen all the pictures many times before, went back to the library, and
Barbry soon finished her evening duties up-stairs; so no one ever knew
just what those experiments were.
Among the slides was a picture of Lot's wife; a tall, white figure with
a half-lifted veil, turning for a backward look. The lurid flames of
burning Sodom glowed in the background the first time Lucy and Retta saw
it thrown upon the wall, but the last time it was changed into a ghostly
figure that made those Wraiths of Vengeance dance for joy. Allison, with
a thick coat of black paint, had carefully covered all the background,
blotting out everything in the circle except the figure itself, which
stood out with startling distinctness. Then from the top of a
step-ladder they practised throwing it from the transom of Allison's
room through the opposite transom of the room across the hall.
"It will be even easier than this at the seminary," said Lucy, "for the
hall between Mittie's room and mine is narrower, and the transoms are
lower. That will throw the figure directly above the foot of Mittie's
bed. I think it will be all the better that we have to throw it high,
for it will give the floating effect the veiled lady is famous for, to
have the head so near the ceiling. I'll have to lay in a stock of
provisions so that I need not go down to supper Monday night. Then while
everybody is in the dining-room I'll hide the step-ladder under my bed,
and experiment with the lantern from my transom to get exactly the right
position."
"What if Mittie shouldn't wake up when you flash it in?" suggested
Allison.
Retta was equal to providing for such an emergency. "I'll set my watch
with Lucy's," she said, "and at exactly the moment we agree upon, I'll
tap on Mittie's window just below mine with a bottle let down on a
string. I'll give three sepulchral knocks, then wait a minute and give
three more. I should think that an empty bottle knocking against the
glass would give a hollow sort of sound. That's the window we always
keep open at night."
"When it's time for Barbry to take you home," said Allison, "we'll go,
too, and help carry the lantern. Now this is a case of our shadow-selves
being where we can not. We can't do the actual scaring, but it's our
lantern that's going to cast the shadow that will make Mittie Dupong
afraid to listen again as long as she lives."
It took considerable self-denial on Lucy's part to forego supper when
the time came to carry out the plan, but the spirit of mischief was
stronger than her appetite. She was rewarded by finding the daintiest of
luncheons in the box Allison left upon her table, and as she sat down
to enjoy it after bringing in the step-ladder from the chambermaid's
supply-closet and making her experiments, she thought the Order of
Wraiths was a most excellent thing to which to belong.
Although midnight is the prescribed time for all ghostly visitants,
these wraiths had arranged for a much earlier appearing. It would cost
too great an effort to keep awake until that witching hour. It was not
more than half-past ten, although the seminary had been in darkness and
silence for an hour, when Retta leaned out of her window, dangling an
empty shoe-polish bottle on the end of a long string. It swung against
Mittie's window just below with three hollow knocks. Ten seconds after
by Lucy's watch the knocking was repeated. She could not hear it from
her room, but her faith in Retta's punctuality in carrying out her part
of the programme made her send a dazzling circle of light from the
lantern she was manipulating, to rest on the wall above the foot of
Mittie's bed.
Mittie sat up in bed, too startled to utter a sound. The light instantly
disappeared and a white-veiled figure took its place. To her horror she
could distinctly see the dark wall-paper through its ghostly
outlines. She buried her face in the bedclothes with a moan of terror.
[Illustration: "MITTIE SAT UP IN BED, TOO STARTLED TO UTTER A SOUND."]
"What's the matter, Mittie?" asked her roommate, from the opposite bed,
who had been aroused by the knocking and the light, but had not opened
her eyes until she heard the moan. The sound of a human voice gave
Mittie courage to look out again. The apparition was gone.
"Oh," she quavered, "I must have been dreaming. I thought there was a
knocking at the window, then there was a blinding light, and the next
instant the veiled lady seemed to float across the room at the foot of
my bed. I never was so frightened in my life. My tongue is stiff yet,
and I am all in a shiver. Oh, it was awful!"
"It must have been the potato salad you ate for supper," answered Sara,
drowsily; but as she spoke the three slow knocks sounded again at the
window, and she raised herself on her elbow to listen.
"Oo-oo-oh! There it is again!" wailed Mittie, burrowing under the
bedclothes again. The hair fairly rose on Sara's head as the outlines of
a veiled figure appeared above the foot of Mittie's bed, floating
hesitatingly a little space, and then vanished. In a flash Sara had
disappeared from view also, and lay almost smothered under the
blankets, so rigid with fear that she dared not move a muscle. She held
herself motionless until she began to ache. It seemed hours before
either one dared look out again, although it was barely five minutes.
"It was the hoodoo beginning to work," gasped Sara, in a hoarse whisper.
"Oh, if I ever live through this night I tell you I'll get out of this
room in the morning, Mittie Dupong. I'll never spend another night with
a girl that's marked for the haunts to follow."
It was hours before they fell asleep, for they kept opening their eyes
to assure themselves that the apparition had not reappeared. Even in
broad daylight the memory of their fright was not a pleasant thing to
think about. It required all the persuasion that Mittie could bring to
bear, and the gift of a coral fan-chain to prevail upon Sara not to go
to the teachers with the matter. She finally consented to room with
Mittie one more night, but announced in case the ghost came back she'd
certainly alarm the seminary.
"But if the teachers found out that I really was marked that way,"
sobbed Mittie, "they'd go to investigating, and find out about my
eavesdropping, and they wouldn't let me stay in the school, if the
spirits made such a disturbance about it."
Sara promised secrecy, but while no hint of the appearance reached the
faculty, every girl in the seminary heard of it before night. Nothing
was talked of but table-tippings and spirit-rapping and "appearances."
No ghostly visitant disturbed Mittie's and Sara's slumbers the second
night. The Shadow Club, in secret session, decided it would not be safe
to venture again so soon. But a spirit of unrest seemed to pervade the
whole seminary. Mischievous girls knocked on the walls to see their
roommates turn pale. Cold hands reached suddenly out of dark corners to
clutch unwary passers-by, and a panic spread in a single evening among
the pupils, more contagious than mumps or measles. Every one not
infected with the fear seemed infected with a desire to make some one
else afraid.
Even gentle little Jean Wilson, whose deportment was always perfect, and
who was too tender-hearted to watch a spider killed, so the girls
declared, felt moved to do something. Her roommate, Ada Day, loudly
proclaimed that _she_ was not afraid of spooks, and she didn't have any
patience with girls who were silly enough to believe such tales. Nothing
could frighten _her_!
While Ada was in the bath-room that evening, Jean emptied a tin box of
talcum powder, slipped a spool of thread inside, and drawing the end of
the thread through one of the holes in the perforated lid, hid the box
in the springs of Ada's bed. The black thread trailing across the carpet
to Jean's pillow was not visible in the dimly lighted room when Ada came
back and found Jean lying with her eyes closed. She did not turn up the
lamp, but began undressing as quietly as possible, and was soon in bed
herself. Both girls were wakeful that night. Both heard the clock strike
several times. Ada tossed and turned whenever she roused, but Jean lay
as quiet as possible, breathing regularly, so that Ada thought she was
asleep and did not venture to speak.
As the clock in the lower hall stopped striking twelve, Jean reached for
the thread fastened to her pillow by a pin, and gave it several quick
uneven jerks. The spool rattling in the tin box sounded like the
mysterious rappings at which Ada had turned up her nose. To hear it thus
in the dead of night was a different matter to Ada.
"Jean!" she called, in a hoarse stage-whisper. "Jean! Did you hear that?
What do you suppose it is?"
Jean gave the thread another tweak, and then answered, in the same loud
whisper, "It sounds to me as if something was trying to spell your name
by tapping. It comes from under your bed, but then of course you don't
believe in such things. It may be a warning."
"I wish I dared put my foot out of bed," said Ada, her teeth chattering.
"I'd get up and make a light. You do it, Jean. I'd do that much for you
if the noise was under your bed."
"Sh!" warned Jean. "I believe something is really calling you. It's
certainly spelling your name. Now count. One knock--that is A. One, two,
three, four--D. One again--A. Yes, that spelled Ada. Now it's beginning
again. One, two, three, four--D. One--A." The knocks followed in rapid
succession until Ada, realizing that they were going all the way to Y,
was almost paralyzed with terror.
"Oh, Jean!" she wailed. "Stop it! Stop it! Get up and make a light, or
call the matron, or something! I can't stand it a minute longer! I'll be
a gibbering idiot if you don't stop that awful knocking!"
Jean still continued to jerk the thread, till she heard Ada spring up
desperately as if to jump out of bed. Then she said, "Oh, do be still,
Ada Day. It's nothing but a spool in a tin box. See! I'll strike a match
and show you. I was only playing a trick on you because you boasted
nothing could frighten you. Don't rouse the house, for mercy's sake."
It took much time and much pleading on Jean's part to convince Ada that
there was really no spirit under her bed, and then it took more time and
pleading to appease her anger. The sound of voices and the striking of a
match aroused the matron. She lay for a moment, wondering what was the
matter; then, thinking that some one might be ill and in need of her
services, she got up, slipped on a warm bathrobe and her felt bedroom
slippers, and stepped out into the hall to investigate.
All was quiet, but she had a feeling that some mischief was afloat. An
inkling of the disturbing element in the school had reached her early in
the day, and although she had said nothing to the teachers, she had made
a careful round of inspection just before going to bed. Some rumour of
the doings of the Shadow Club which had come to her made her go to the
west wing and push aside the portiere hanging over the door that led to
the outside stairway. The bolt was in place, but it slipped easily in
its sheath as if it had lately been oiled. Selecting a key on the ring
at her belt, she locked the door. "I'll risk a fire for one night," she
thought, "but I can't risk some other things."
Although the hall was quiet when she stepped out now in the midnight
silence, some feeling that all was not right made her slip on down the
front stairs. There was no light, excepting a faint starlight, that
served to show where the windows were. As she stood there listening,
about to strike a match, something in white brushed down the stairs past
her. Half in a spirit of mischief, thinking to pay the girl or ghost,
whichever it was, back in her own coin, the matron threw her arms around
the sheeted figure.
There was a muffled scream of terror. But, holding her captive fast with
one strong hand, the matron struck a match with the other.
"Hush!" she said. "There's no use in disturbing everybody." Then as the
match flared up she saw that it was no Wraith of Vengeance she held. The
sheet fell to the floor, revealing Ida Shane, dressed even to hat and
furs, and carrying her leather travelling-bag.