A CHRISTMAS GHOST STORY THAT WAS NEVER TOLD.
It was quite dark in the corridor whereon opened the cloister offices.
All the teachers had gone away for the holidays and the place was as
ghostly as a deserted monastery.
"I can't say I'd like to be here alone on a dark night, if it is such a
young cloister. It seems to have been born old like some children,"
Molly thought.
She coughed and the sound reverberated in the arched ceiling and came
back to her an empty echo.
Pausing at Professor Green's door, she stooped to shove the note
underneath, when, to her surprise, the door opened at her touch and
swung lightly back.
With an exclamation, Molly started back, leaving the note on the floor.
Leaning against one of the deep silled windows, just where the fast
fading light fell across his face, stood a tall, stoop-shouldered man.
In the flashing glimpse Molly caught of him before she turned and fled,
she noticed that he resembled an old gray eagle with a thin beak of a
nose and a worn white face; and that his dark eyes were quite close
together. The rest of him was lost in the black shadows of the room.
Once out of the ghostly corridor and the heavy oak door shut between her
and the strange visitor in the Professor's office, Molly paused and took
a deep breath.
"In the name of goodness," she cried, "what have I just seen? If he had
stirred or blinked an eyelash or even appeared to breathe, I should at
least have felt he was human."
The big empty hall of the Quadrangle seemed a cheerful spot in
comparison with the cloister corridor. It was warm and light and from
the seniors' parlor came the sound of piano playing. But Molly never
paused to look in and see what belated student was cheering herself with
music. Only her own sitting room with its gay holiday decorations and
Judy twanging the guitar could recall her to a world of realities.
Before she reached the door she had made up her mind that it would be
just as well not to tell the excitable and impressionable Judy anything
about the apparition or whatever it was in the Professor's study. It was
really an act of self-denial, because it would have been decidedly
interesting to discuss the episode with Judy.
"I would have told Nance," she thought. "She would have agreed with me,
I am sure, that it couldn't have been a ghost because, of course, there
are no such things. But if I tell Judy, I know perfectly well she will
persuade me it was a ghost and we'll be frightened to death all night."
Judy, still wearing her widow's weeds, was singing a doleful ballad when
Molly hurried in, called "By the Bonnie Milldams o' Binnorie." Molly was
fond of this ancient song, but she was in no mood to listen to it just
then.
"'The youngest stood upon a stane,
The eldest cam' and pushed her in.
Oh, sister, sister, reach your hand,
And ye sall be heir to half my land;
Oh, sister, sister, reach but your glove,
And sweet William sall be your love.'"
The guitar gave out a mournful twang.
"Talk about impressionable people, I'm worse than she is," thought
Molly. "I'll shriek aloud if she doesn't stop this minute."
Just then the six o'clock bell boomed out and Molly did give a loud
nervous exclamation.
Judy dropped the guitar on the floor. The strings resounded with a deep
protesting chord and then subsided into resigned quietude.
"Molly, what is the matter? You're as pale as a ghost."
Molly smiled at her own weakness. Having just made up her mind not to
tell Judy, she was suddenly possessed with a fever to relate the entire
incident from beginning to end.
"If you'll promise to put on your red dress to-night by way of
celebration, and to cheer me up, I'll tell you a thrilling story, Judy."
"But I've made a vow and I can't break it."
"Did the vow stipulate that you couldn't wear colors Christmas Eve?"
"No, not exactly."
"Well, then, get into your scarlet frock, because I'll never tell you if
you wear that black one, and I'll put on some old gay-colored rag, too,
and after supper I'll tell you a thrilling tale."
"I'll put on the red dress," said Judy, "if you promise never to tell
Nance, but I can't wait until after supper to hear the story."
"You'll have to. It's a long tale and there won't be time to dress and
tell it, too."
"Well," consented Judy, "because it's Christmas Eve, the very time to
tell thrilling tales if they are true, I'll agree."
And obediently she attired herself in the scarlet dress, while Molly put
on a blue blouse that, by a happy chance, matched the color of her eyes
as perfectly as if they had been cut from the same bolt.
"Did it really happen to me," she kept thinking, "or did I dream it
after all?"
There was no chance to tell Judy the story after supper, because the two
girls were summoned to the parlor almost immediately to see three
callers, Andy, Dodo Green and Lawrence Upton.
During the visit Molly seized the opportunity to ask the younger Green
where his brother was spending his Christmas.
"Oh, he's making visits around the county," answered George Theodore
carelessly. "He always has enough invitations for three, but he was
never known to accept any before. I don't know what's got into the old
boy this year. He's getting as giddy as a debutante, going to parties
and rushing around in motors. I have had to make two trips over to
Wellington, first to get his evening clothes because he forgot to pack
them, and then for his pumps and dress shirts I forgot myself. When the
old boy goes into anything, he always does it in good style. He used to
be a kind of dude about ten years ago. But he's all the way to thirty
now and he feels his age. Do you notice how bald he's getting? He'll be
losing his teeth next."
"I'm glad he's having such a good time," said Molly, disdaining the
aspersions cast by George Theodore on his brother's age. "I hope he is
well and happy," she added in her thoughts. "I am sure I don't begrudge
him a jolly Christmas, considering what a jolly one he gave me last
year. I am sorry I left the note, now. Like as not, he doesn't even
remember what I said that day and when he reads the letter he won't know
what I am talking about."
At last the boys left. Judy was intensely relieved. She desired only one
thing on earth: to hear Molly's ghost story. All her perceptions were on
edge with curiosity, but she was determined to have all things in
harmony for the telling of a Christmas Eve Ghost Story. So she
restrained her inquisitiveness until they had slipped on dressing-gowns
and were both comfortably installed in big chairs with a box of candy
and a plate of salted almonds between them.
"And now, begin," she said, sighing comfortably.
But Molly had scarcely uttered three words when she was interrupted by
the arrival of packages from the late train brought up by the faithful
Murphy.
Even Judy's unsatisfied curiosity regarding the tale could not hold out
against these fascinating boxes, and the story waited while they untied
the strings and eagerly tore off the paper wrappings.
"I suppose we ought to wait until to-morrow morning, but since we're
just two lonely little waifs, I think we might gratify ourselves this
once, don't you, Molly dear?" asked Judy.
"I certainly do," Molly agreed, "seeing as it doesn't matter to anybody
whether we look at them now or in the morning."
It was a long time before they settled down again to the story, and
Molly had not advanced a paragraph when there came another tap at the
door. Evidently the Quadrangle gates were to be kept open late that
night or account of the arrival of holiday packages.
This time it was a boy from the florist's, fairly laden with flower
boxes.
Andy had sent both the girls violets.
"Very sweet and proper of him, I'm sure, in the absence of Nance,"
laughed Judy.
Lawrence Upton had sent Molly a box of American beauties.
"And he could ill afford it, the foolish boy," ejaculated Molly.
Dodo had expended all his savings on a handsome Jerusalem cherry tree
for Judy. There was another box for Molly. It contained violets and two
cards--Miss Grace Green's and Professor Edwin Green's.
Molly blushed crimson when she read the names. For the thousandth time
she covered herself with reproaches. She sat down and gathered the
bouquets into her lap.
"Judy," she cried contritely, "what have I done to gain all these kind
friends? I'm sure I don't deserve it. The dears!"
But Judy was too much engaged with her own numerous gifts to contradict
this self-depreciating statement.
"I am really happy, Molly," she cried, "even without mamma and papa it's
been a lovely Christmas Eve."
With one of those divinations which sometimes comes to us like a voice
from another land, it suddenly occurred to Molly that whatever it was in
Professor Green's office, whether ghost or human, perhaps the Professor
might not like to have it discussed, and she resolved not to tell Judy
or anyone else what she had seen.
"And then," she continued, "if he ever asks me whether I told, it will
be a nice, comfortable feeling to say I haven't."
At last, having put the flowers back in the boxes and restored some
order to the room, Judy sat down and folded her hands.
"And now, go on with the story."
"My dear child, so much has happened since then and I'm so weary, I
don't think I can make it the frightful tale I had intended."
"Oh, it was all a joke?" asked Judy, whose enthusiasm had about spent
itself in other outlets.
"Oh, partly a joke. I went down to the cloisters to leave a Christmas
note for Professor Green at his office and saw a ghostly looking figure
there."
"Is that all? Well, anybody might look like a phantom in that gloomy
place. I've no doubt the ghostly figure took you for another."
"I've no doubt it did," answered Molly, laughing, and with that they
kissed and went to bed.
Long after midnight Molly rose and slipped on her dressing-gown.
Creeping out of her room, she flitted along the corridor, turned the
corner and hurried up the other side of the Quadrangle. At the very end
of this hall was a narrow passage with a window which commanded a view
of the courtyard and the windows of the cloister studies.
Softly raising the blind, she looked out. In one of the studies a dim
light was burning. She counted windows. It was Professor Green's
office, she was certain. While she looked the light went out.
Back to her bed she flew with a feeling that somebody was chasing her.
"There's one thing certain," she thought, drawing the covers over her
head, "ghosts never need lights."