When King and Marjorie rang the bell at Gladys Fulton's, the door opened very slowly, and they could hear a low, sepulchral groan.

Midge clung to her brother's arm, for though she knew everything was to be as weird and grotesque as possible, yet it was delightful to feel the shudder of surprise.

As the door opened further, they could see that the house was but dimly lighted, and the hall was full of a deep red glow. This was caused by putting red shades on the lights and standing a semi-transparent red screen before the blazing wood-fire in the big fireplace.

The groan was repeated, and then they realized that it said, "Welcome, welcome!" but in such a wailing voice that it seemed to add to the gloom. The voice proceeded from a figure draped in a white sheet.

"h.e.l.lo, Ghost!" said King, who knew that d.i.c.k Fulton himself was wrapped in the sheet.

"O-o-o-o-ugh!" groaned the ghost.

"You don't seem to feel well," said Marjorie, giggling. "Poor Ghost, why don't you go to bed?"

But before the ghost could speak again, a gorgeous witch came prancing up, carrying a broomstick wound with red ribbons. The witch was all in red, with a tall peaked hat of red, covered with cabalistic designs cut from gilt paper and pasted on. She groaned and wailed, too, and then spoke in a rapid and unintelligible jargon.

The Maynards knew that this witch was Gladys, but some of the guests did not know it, and were greatly mystified.

A few older persons, whom Mrs. Fulton had invited to help entertain the children, were stationed in the various rooms. Dressed in queer costumes, they played bits of weird music on the piano, or struck occasional clanging notes from m.u.f.fled gongs.

All of this greatly pleased Marjorie, who loved make-believe, and she fell into the spirit of the occasion, and went about on tiptoe with a solemn, awed face. Indeed she made the ghosts and witches laugh in spite of their wish to be awesome. The rooms were decorated to befit the day, and great jack-o'-lanterns grinned from mantels or brackets. Autumn leaves were in profusion, and big black cats cut from paper adorned the walls.

Soon the party were all a.s.sembled, and then the games began.

First, all were led out to the kitchen, which was decorated with ears of corn, sheaves of grain, and other harvest trophies.

On a table were dishes of apples and nuts, not for eating purposes, but to play the games with.

There were several tubs half filled with water, and in these the young people were soon "bobbing for apples." On the apples were pinned papers on which were written various names, and the merry guests strove to grasp an apple with their teeth, either by its stem or by biting into the fruit itself. This proved to be more difficult than it seemed, and it was soon abandoned for the game of apple-parings. After an apple was pared in one continuous strip, the paring was tossed three times round the head, and then thrown to the floor. The initial it formed there was said to represent the initial of the fate of the one who threw it.

"Pshaw!" said Marjorie, as she tried for the third time, "it always makes E, and I don't know anybody who begins with E."

"Perhaps you'll meet some one later," said Mrs. Fulton, smiling. "You're really too young to consider these 'fates' entirely trustworthy."

Then they all tried blowing out the candle. This wasn't a "Fate" game, but there were prizes for the successful ones.

Each guest was blindfolded, led to a table where stood a lighted candle, turned round three times, and ordered to blow it out. Only three attempts were allowed, and not everybody won the little witches, owls, black cats, bats, and tiny pumpkins offered as prizes.

Marjorie, though securely blindfolded, was fortunate enough to blow straight and hard, and out went the candle-flame. Her prize was a gay little chenille imp, which she stuck in her hair with great glee.

Then they all went back to the drawing-room, where a pretty game had been arranged during their absence.

From the chandelier was suspended a large-sized "hoople" that had been twisted with red ribbon. From this at regular intervals hung, by short ribbons, candies, cakes, apples, nuts, candle ends, lemons, and sundry other things.

The children stood round in a circle, and the hoop was twisted up tightly and then let to untwist itself slowly. As it revolved, the children were to catch the flying articles in their teeth. Any one getting a lemon was out of the game. Any one getting a candle end had to pay a forfeit, but those who caught the goodies could eat them.

Next, after being seated round the room, each child was given a spoon.

Then a dish of ice-cream was pa.s.sed, of which each took a spoonful and ate it. In the ice-cream had previously been hidden a dime, a ring, a thimble, a b.u.t.ton, and a nutmeg. Whoever chanced to get the ring was destined to be married first. Whoever took the dime was destined to become very wealthy. The thimble denoted a thrifty housewife; the b.u.t.ton, a life of single blessedness; and the nutmeg, a good cook.

Shouts of laughter arose, as they learned that Kingdon would be an old bachelor, and doubts were expressed when Gladys triumphantly exhibited the nutmeg.

"You can't ever learn to cook!" cried d.i.c.k. "You're too much of a b.u.t.terfly."

"Good cooks make the b.u.t.ter fly," said Kingdon, and then they all laughed again. Indeed, they were quite ready to laugh at anything. For a Hallowe'en party is provocative of much merriment, and the most nonsensical speeches were applauded.

They popped corn, and they melted lead, and they roasted chestnuts, and then some more difficult experiments were tried.

Harry Frost and Marjorie were chosen to "Thread the Needle."

Each held a cupful of water in the left hand, and in the right hand Harry held a good-sized needle, while Marjorie held a length of thread.

She tried to get the thread through the needle, and he tried to help, or at least not hinder her; but all the time both must have a care that no drop of water was spilled from their cups.

The tradition was that if they succeeded in threading the needle within a minute they were destined for each other; but as they couldn't do it, Harry bade her a laughing farewell, and offered the thread to Gladys.

They were no more successful, and the game was abandoned as being too difficult.

Nutsh.e.l.l boats was a pretty game. The tiny craft, made of English walnut sh.e.l.ls, with paper sails, had been prepared beforehand, and the guests wrote their names on the sails, then loaded each boat with a cargo of a wish written on a slip of paper.

The boats were then set afloat in a tub of water, and by gently blowing on them their owners endeavored to make them go ash.o.r.e, or rather to the side of the tub. As one hit the wood it was taken out, and the owner joyfully announced that his or her wish would come true, but many of them stayed stubbornly in mid-ocean and refused to land. The unfortunate owners condoled with each other on their hard fate.

The merry games being over, all went to the dining-room for the feast that was spread there.

The children were paired off, and, while Mrs. Fulton played stirring strains on the piano, they marched around the rooms, and so out to the dining-room.

The elaborately decorated table called forth shouts of joy, and soon all were seated in chairs round the room, enjoying the good things.

On the table were jack-o'-lanterns made not only of pumpkins, but of squashes, turnips, and even of big red or green apples.

Candles were burning in all of these, and standing about the table were queer little gnomes and witches, made of nuts, or of dried prunes.

These little figures were souvenirs, and were distributed to all the guests. The ice-cream was in the form of little yellow pumpkins, and proved to taste quite as good as it looked. There were also more substantial viands, such as nut sandwiches, apple salad, pumpkin pie, and grape jelly. Everything had some reference to Hallowe'en or to Harvest Home, and the children were not too young to appreciate this.

Supper was just about over when Mr. Maynard came after his children.

"Oh, Father," cried Marjorie, "you said you wouldn't come till nine o'clock!"

"But it's quarter-past nine now, my daughter."

"It _can't_ be!" exclaimed Midge, greatly surprised; and everybody said, "Is it, really?"

"But we must have one merry round game before we part," said Mrs.

Fulton, and, though several parents had arrived to take their little ones home, they all agreed to wait ten minutes more.

So they had a rollicking game of "Going to Jerusalem," and then the party was over.

Marjorie said good-night politely to Mrs. Fulton and the other grown-ups who had entertained them, making her pretty little bobbing courtesy, as she had been taught to do.

Kingdon said good-night in his frank, boyish way, and then they went for their wraps.

"Oh, Father," said Midget as they crossed the street to their own home, "it was the very loveliest party! Can't I sit up for a while and tell you every single thing that happened?"