Breathlessly, she slipped out of the back door, and closed it softly behind her. She could not distinguish the dark outlines of the barn in the equal darkness of the autumn night. She gave a long sobbing gasp as she groped her way forward. As she neared the barn, she was startled to hear from the haymow over her head, deep groans as of a soul in mortal agony. Something had happened to the twins!

"Girls! Girls!" she cried, forgetting for the moment her own sorry state. "What is the matter? Twins!"

Sepulchral silence! And Connie knew that this was the dreadful Skull and Bones. Her teeth chattered as she stood there, irresolute in the intense and throbbing darkness.

"It's only the twins," she a.s.sured herself over and over, and began fumbling with the latch of the barn door,--but her fingers were stiff and cold. Suddenly from directly above her, there came the hideous clanking of iron chains. Connie had read ghost stories, and she knew the significance of clanking chains, but she stood her ground in spite of the almost irresistible impulse to fly. After the clanking, the loud and clamorous peal of a bell rang out.

"It's that old cow bell they found in the field," she whispered practically, but found it none the less horrifying.

Finally she stepped into the blackness of the barn, found the ladder leading to the haymow and began slowly climbing. But her own weight seemed a tremendous thing, and she had difficulty in raising herself from step to step. She comforted herself with the reflection that at the top were the twins,--company and triumph hand in hand. But when she reached the top, and peered around her, she found little comfort,--and no desirable company?

A small barrel draped in black stood in the center of the mow, and on it a lighted candle gave out a feeble flickering ray which emphasized the darkness around it. On either side of the black-draped barrel stood a motionless figure, clothed in somber black. On the head of one was a skull,--not a really skull, just a pasteboard imitation, but it was just as awful to Connie. On the head of the other were crossbones.

"Kneel," commanded the hoa.r.s.e voice of Skull, in which Connie could faintly distinguish the tone of Lark.

She knelt,--an abject quivering neophyte.

"Hear the will of Skull and Crossbones," chanted Crossbones in a shrill monotone.

Then Skull took up the strain once more. "Skull and Crossbones, great in mercy and in condescension, has listened graciously to the prayer of Constance, the Seeker. Hear the will of the Great Spirit! If the Seeker will, for the length of two weeks, submit herself to the will of Skull and Crossbones, she shall be admitted into the Ancient and Honorable Order. If the Seeker accepts this condition, she must bow herself to the ground three times, in token of submission."

"There's no ground here," came a small faint voice from the kneeling Seeker.

"The floor, madam," Skull explained sternly. "If the Seeker accepts the condition,--to submit herself absolutely to the will of Skull and Crossbones for two entire weeks,--she shall bow herself three times."

Constance hesitated. It was so grandly expressed that she hardly understood what they wanted. Carol came to her rescue.

"That means you've got to do everything Lark and I tell you for two weeks," she said in her natural voice.

Then Constance bowed herself three times,--although she lost her balance in the act, and Carol forgot her dignity and gave way to laughter, swiftly subdued, however.

"Arise and approach the altar," she commanded in the shrill voice, which yet gave signs of laughter.

Constance arose and approached.

"Upon the altar, before the Eternal Light, you will find a small black bow, with a drop of human blood in the center. This is the badge of your pledgedom. You must wear it day and night, during the entire two weeks. After that, if all is well; you shall be received into full membership. If you break your pledge to the Order, it must be restored at once to Skull and Crossbones. Take it, and pin it upon your breast."

Constance did so,--and her breast heaved with rapture and awe in mingling.

Then a horrible thing happened. The flame of the "Eternal Light" was suddenly extinguished, and Carol exclaimed, "The ceremony is ended.

Return, damsel, to thine abode."

A sound of scampering feet,--and Constance knew that the Grand Officials had fled, and she was alone in the dreadful darkness. She called after them pitifully, but she heard the slam of the kitchen door before she had even reached the ladder.

It was a sobbing and miserable neophyte who stumbled into the kitchen a few seconds later. The twins were bending earnestly over their Latin grammars by the side of the kitchen fire, and did not raise their eyes as the Seeker burst into the room. Constance sat down, and gasped and quivered for a while. Then she looked down complacently at the little black bow with its smudge of red ink, and sighed contentedly.

The week that followed was a gala one for the twins of Skull and Crossbones. Constance swept their room, made their bed, washed their dishes, did their ch.o.r.es, and in every way behaved as a model pledge of the Ancient and Honorable. The twins were gracious but firm. There was no arguing, and no faltering. "It is the will of Skull and Crossbones that the damsel do this," they would say. And the damsel did it.

Prudence did not feel it was a case that called for her interference.

So she sat back and watched, while the twins told stories, read and frolicked, and Constance did their daily tasks.

So eight days pa.s.sed, and then came Waterloo. Constance returned home after an errand downtown, and in her hand she carried a great golden pear. Perhaps Constance would have preferred that she escape the notice of the twins on this occasion, but as luck would have it, she pa.s.sed Carol in the hall.

"Gracious! What a pear! Where did you get it?" demanded Carol covetously.

"I met Mr. Arnold down-town, and he bought it for me. He's very fond of me. It cost him a dime, too, for just this one. Isn't it a beauty?" And Connie licked her lips suggestively.

Carol licked hers, too, thoughtfully. Then she called up the stairs, "Lark, come here, quick!"

Lark did so, and duly exclaimed and admired. Then she said significantly, "I suppose you are going to divide with us?"

"Of course," said Connie with some indignation. "I'm going to cut it in five pieces so Prudence and Fairy can have some, too."

A pause, while Carol and Lark gazed at each other soberly. Mentally, each twin was figuring how big her share would be when the pear was divided in fives. Then Lark spoke.

"It is the will of Skull and Crossbones that this luscious fruit be turned over to them immediately."

Constance faltered, held it out, drew it back.

"If I do, I suppose you'll give me part of it, anyhow," she said, and her eyes glittered.

"Not so, damsel," said Carol ominously. "The Ancient and Honorable takes,--it never gives."

For a moment Constance wavered. Then she flamed into sudden anger. "I won't do it, so there!" she cried. "I think you're mean selfish pigs, that's what I think! Taking my very own pear, and--but you won't get it! I don't care if I never get into your silly old society,--you don't get a bite of this pear, I can tell you that!" And Constance rushed up-stairs and slammed a door. A few seconds later the door opened again, and her cherished badge was flung down upon Skull and Crossbones.

"There's your old black string smeared up with red ink!" she yelled at them wildly. And again the door slammed.

Carol picked up the insulted badge, and studied it thoughtfully. Lark spoke first.

"It occurs to me, Fair Gwendolyn, that we would do well to keep this little scene from the ears of the just and righteous Prudence."

"Right, as always, Brave Knight," was the womanly retort. And the twins betook themselves to the haymow in thoughtful mood.

A little later, when Prudence and Fairy came laughing into the down-stairs hall, a white-faced Constance met them. "Look," she said, holding out a pear, divided into three parts, just like Gaul. "Mr.

Arnold gave me this pear, and here's a piece for each of you."

The girls thanked her warmly, but Prudence paused with her third almost touching her lips. "How about the twins?" she inquired. "Aren't they at home? Won't they break your pledge if you leave them out?"

Constance looked up sternly. "I offered them some half an hour ago, and they refused it," she said. "And they have already put me out of the society!" There was tragedy in the childish face, and Prudence put her arms around this baby-sister.

"Tell Prue all about it, Connie," she said. But Constance shook her head.

"It can't be talked about. Go on and eat your pear. It is good."

"Was it all right?" questioned Prudence. "Did the twins play fair, Connie?"

"Yes," said Constance. "It was all right. Don't talk about it."