Betty's Happy Year

“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.