Theresa Page was giving a party. It was the outcome of a long series
of arguments addressed to her mother, which had been overheard in part
by her father. He had at last said five words, "Oh, let her have it."
The mother had then gladly capitulated.
Theresa had written nineteen invitations, and distributed them at
recess to her schoolmates. Later her mother had composed five large
cakes, and still later a vast amount of lemonade.
So the nine little girls and the ten little boys sat quite primly in
the dining-room, while Theresa and her mother plied them with cake and
lemonade, and also with ice-cream. This primness sat now quite
strangely upon them. It was owing to the presence of Mrs. Page.
Previously in the parlor alone with their games they had overturned a
chair; the boys had let more or less of their hoodlum spirit shine
forth. But when circumstances could be possibly magnified to warrant
it, the girls made the boys victims of an insufferable pride, snubbing
them mercilessly. So in the dining-room they resembled a class at
Sunday-school, if it were not for the subterranean smiles, gestures,
rebuffs, and poutings which stamped the affair as a children's party.
Two little girls of this subdued gathering were planted in a settle
with their backs to the broad window. They were beaming lovingly upon
each other with an effect of scorning the boys.
Hearing a noise behind her at the window, one little girl turned to
face it. Instantly she screamed and sprang away, covering her face
with her hands. "What was it? What was it?" cried every one in a roar.
Some slight movement of the eyes of the weeping and shuddering child
informed the company that she had been frightened by an appearance at
the window. At once they all faced the imperturbable window, and for a
moment there was a silence. An astute lad made an immediate census of
the other lads. The prank of slipping out and looming spectrally at a
window was too venerable. But the little boys were all present and
astonished.
As they recovered their minds they uttered warlike cries, and through
a side door sallied rapidly out against the terror. They vied with
each other in daring.
None wished particularly to encounter a dragon in the darkness of the
garden, but there could be no faltering when the fair ones in the
dining-room were present. Calling to each other in stern voices, they
went dragooning over the lawn, attacking the shadows with ferocity,
but still with the caution of reasonable beings. They found, however,
nothing new to the peace of the night. Of course there was a lad who
told a great lie. He described a grim figure, bending low and slinking
off along the fence. He gave a number of details, rendering his lie
more splendid by a repetition of certain forms which he recalled from
romances. For instance, he insisted that he had heard the creature
emit a hollow laugh.
Inside the house the little girl who had raised the alarm was still
shuddering and weeping. With the utmost difficulty was she brought to
a state approximating calmness by Mrs. Page. Then she wanted to go
home at once.
Page entered the house at this time. He had exiled himself until he
concluded that this children's party was finished and gone. He was
obliged to escort the little girl home because she screamed again when
they opened the door and she saw the night.
She was not coherent even to her mother. Was it a man? She didn't
know. It was simply a thing, a dreadful thing.