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"To be sure, to be sure," replied old Adam, nodding cheerfully at the fire, "I ain't all I once was except in the matter or corn-shuckin' an' a cold-snap like this goes clean to the bones when they ain't covered." "Did you carry any of yo' winesaps into Applegate, Abel?" inquired Jim Halloween. "I'm savin' mine till Christmas, when the prices will take a jump." "No, I only drove Blossom over.
It was not Halloween. If I were telling a story for amusement's sake, I should probably place it on that night of nights; but this is a true record of my own experiences, and I would not put pen to paper to amuse anyone. No. It was after midnight on the morning of the twenty-first day of January. I was sitting reading, as is often my custom, in my study. Pepper lay, sleeping, near my chair.
"If you'd take off that Halloween mask, I might know who I'm talking to!" "My name is Hilmarc." "Hilmarc?" "Yes. I am the leader of this detachment." "Leader, huh?" grunted Connel. "Leader of what? A bunch of little tin soldiers?" "You shall see, Major." Hilmarc's voice was low and threatening.
"Don't pound so hard, son," she cautioned. "We're not deaf." "Might a' thought it was some Halloween gang if I didn't," he defended himself as he threw his hat on the nearest chair. "Have a good time?" she queried. "Did I?" The earnestness of his voice left little doubt as to his sentiments. "Did I? You just bet I did!"
But until midnight we are going to play games old games, such as I'm told they played in England two hundred years ago on May Day and on All Fools' Day and on Halloween. There'll be no servants about and no one to bother us and we'll have these rooms to ourselves to do just as we please in." A babble of politely enthusiastic exclamations rose.
Here is a bit of folklore, touched by Shakespeare's exquisite fancy, which shows what one boy listened to before the fire at Halloween: She comes In shape no bigger than an agate-stone On the fore-finger of an alderman, Drawn with a team of little atomies Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep; Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners' legs, The cover of the wings of grasshoppers, The traces of the smallest spider's web, The collars of the moonshine's watery beams, Her whip of cricket's bone, the lash of film, Her waggoner a small grey-coated gnat, * Her chariot is an empty hazel nut Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub, Time out o' mind the fairies' coachmakers.
On a low stand at David's side she had placed books and pictures, and for a time she talked of those. Then very abruptly she asked: "David, when will you see Mr. Jack again do you suppose?" "Tomorrow. I'm going up to the House that Jack Built to tea, and I'm to stay all night. It's Halloween that is, it isn't really Halloween, because it's too late. I lost that, being sick, you know.
All Saints' Day fell on Monday; the Sunday made double hallowing, Barbara said; and Saturday was the "E'en." We did not mean to invite until Wednesday; on Tuesday Ruth came home and told us that Olivia and Adelaide Marchbanks were getting up a Halloween themselves, and that the Haddens were asked already; and that Lily and Reba were in transports because they were to be allowed to go.
Then it was, one Friday afternoon, that Miss Brown stacked her record books neatly in a little pile at one corner of the desk, placed the unmarked homework papers in one of the drawers, and made an innocent announcement which roused thoughts lying dormant in each boy's brain to instant life. "Halloween is only a week from Saturday.
I want each member of the class taking part in the exercises to have the lines learned perfectly. We'll rehearse Monday afternoon." The rest of the speech fell on deaf ears with John. Halloween but a short seven days away? Why, it seemed scarcely three mornings ago that he had started on the fishing trip which nearly landed the big carp. The gang should be a big one, this time.
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