The National tribune. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1877-1917, 1894-04-19

the next night was that deliciously horrible
gala night of the spooks, Halloween.
Stephen quaked in his shoes as he lighted
his master to the ground floor chamber at
o'clock, and the latter turned disapprov-
ing eye on his trembling hands as the splut-
tering candle they held lquivered nervously,
and the fellow stared superstitiously into
the black gulf beyond the rays of light
When he was alone he speedily lost him
self in his book. The effect he had worked
for was produced; or rather, would be pro-
duced when he stepped forth whole and
sound from the "ha'nted room the next
morning, and the news should have gone
abroad on Maria's loquacious tongue that
the master hadn't "seen anything queer
there" or even been disturbed by an unquiet
dream.
Mr. Writings interest in the chamber, or
the subject of which it was the keystone,
did not extend beyond the impression he
wished to make on his servants i'll thus
sacrificing his comfort to destroy popular
bugaboo. He turned to his work with a
sigh of relief, and speedily forgot his sur
roundings.
So absorbed was he that he did not hear
Miss Writings low tap at the door until it
was repeated more empbatically, and her
voice said through the keyhole:
Arthur, if you have not yet retired, open
the door; / have something for you.
When he had obeyed he was confronted
by his sister and dainty tray of smoking
pippins, their plump cheeks shriveled to
darkest tan, with the white foam of the
roasted meat just showing here and there
on their shining skins. A plate of baked
chestnuts and jar of home-b brewed ale COM
pleted the contents Of that festive tray.
Mr. 7, in nich-
ment. There was but one night IN all the
year when he was won't to indulge in a
midnight feast, and that particular night
was observed as religiousy by the brother
and sister of though it had been the festival
of some saint.
Have you clean forgotten that this is
Halloween 2" prattled Miss Florimel,
cheerily. why, Art! what sleepy head
you are growing to be, with your everlast-
ing books and inkpots-in your old age,
was going to say; but AZ is young. Pm 55
myself, and see how | have to exert my
faculties for us both
You ought to be ashamed-we haven't
missed keeping Halloween in at least 40
years-yOu haven't, that is. Pve kept 1t
ever since l could remember, and
There, now, do close that book, and sit
down and toast your feet by the fire, and
drink the ale while it's warm. Goodnight,
dear"
Mr. Whiting blew out his candle and
pulled the curtains aside TO let In the bright
moonlight. r a.
But the thick vine-tendrills outside, still
loaded down with their luxurious LEAKAGE of
crimson and freckled gold, barred the way,
so that only a gleam of silvery light
struggled through ipto the inner darkness.
There was a suspicious dimness in the
glass as seen by the uncertain light, too
which suggested dustTTthe bachelors pet
adherence.
He drew a long track down the obscured
pane with his forefnger1 Yes, the glass was
thick with it. -
He threw up the sash, and, penknife in
hand began the work of destruction. In 10
minutes time not single tendril remained
clinging TO the window, through which
flood OF fairest moonlight poured, subdued
little by the thick vail of dust.
Suddenly, as he fingered there looking out
upon the pleasant landscape, he was con-
scious of faint, dim profile between himself
and the outer world.
He rubbed his eyes and looked again in
tently. 1t was gone-no, the faintest shadow
of shape still remained, like a thought
underlined.
He snatched his flannel pen-wiper off the
desk and hastily rubbed it over the dusty
glass, that he might see more clearly. Then
he quickly threw up the sash, and stepped
out onto the little porch beneath.
He could have sworn that some One-a
woman-had stood there, with her profile
turned toward him, stiff and immovable as
a creature turned to, stone
He stepped off the low porch and moved
softly round to the rear of the house. But
only the cool night wind signing a lonely
lullaby to the crisped leaves was there. Not
moving thing in sight.
"Pshdwi" he muttered to himself, with
an impatient laugh at his folly, has the
silly tattle of the country turned my brain,
too, wonder?"
But soon that unpleasant consciousness of
a mysterious presence intruded on the
would-be sleeper again, this time strongly.
With low exclamation of disgust at him
self and everything in general, he raised
himself upon his elbow and looked toward
the window, with difficulty restraining
positive start as he did so, for, clearer than
before, it appeared again-a distinct face and
figure, apparently standing just outside the
window pane, in position sidewise to him.
Mr.. Whiting could not have described
it, so unreal was the experience, even while
its spell was on. He leaned little forward
to see the eyes.
Were they open? Only on the faces of
sleeping children was that expression of
utter oblivion to be seen. This was not the
face of child, but that of young maiden.
A feeling that he could not have put in
words swept over Mr.. Whiting.
We have demonstrated that he was not
superstitious man; yet he actually shud-
dered, much to his disgust.
The next moment he had thrown the
| feeling off and bounded to the window, with
his dressing-gown on his shoulders, confident
that, in his own words, "Some one of those
| fool idiots was playing c0nfOuuded Hal
| loween joke on him because he had shown
his contempt of their silly ghost rubbish"
The fact that the figure had mysteriously
| disappeared by the time he had reached the
| sash and thrown it up only strengthened
| this conviction and stirred up Mr. Whit
tings latent ire, as he closed the window
again and crept shiveringly back to bed;
| but not to lie down and slumber.
One backward glance at the window
| showed him the still figure in its place again,
| distinct as ever.
"I'll see how long this thing will last"
! quoth Mr.. Whiting, grimly, to himself.
IF she can stand it ont there in the cold,
| with thin frock on, surely so can / stand
it in here. Well see Who gives up first"
Fixing himself comfortably, Mr. Whit
| ting glued his wfdeawake eyes upon the
serene profile and waited Yet through the