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When she went down the flagged walk a little later to meet Abel by the blazed pine as she had promised, she was still smiling to herself and to the blue birds that sang joyously in the blossoming trees in the orchard. At the end of the walk her smile vanished for she came face to face with Jim Halloween, who carried a new-born lamb in his arms.
But seeing her gentle, refined face, pale always with the life that had little frolic in it, she spoke right out to that, without deciding. "We want you at our Halloween party on Saturday. Will you come? You will have Helen and the Inglesides to come with, and perhaps Leslie." Rosamond, even while delivering her message to Mrs.
"'Twill be the same way when you marry, I was sayin' as much to ma only yesterday. 'She'd be jest as savin' an' thrifty as you, I mean, of course, if the right man got you to marry him, but 'tis all the same in the end." Again he paused, cleared his throat, and swallowed convulsively, "I've sometimes felt that I might be the right man, Miss Molly," he said. "O Mr. Halloween!"
"Thar ain't many men that are worth the havin' when you git close up to 'em. Every inch of distance betwixt 'em is an inch added to thar attractions." "Now, I've noticed that in my own case," observed Jim Halloween sadly, "no woman yet has ever let me come with kissin' distance the nearer I git, the further an' further they edges away.
"Thar's Jim Halloween now jest as we were speakin' of him," whispered Betsey Bottom, with a nudge at Molly's shoulder. "Well, if that don't beat all," drawled the young man, in an embarrassed rapture, as he entered. "I was gettin' my horse shod over thar at Tim Mallory's, an' I thought to myself that I'd jest drop over an' say 'howdy' to Mrs. Bottom."
"Is not that Ballochgray Castle?" said Marion, at last "that fearfu place whar the Baron of Ballochgray haulds his court with the Evil One, on every Halloween night, when the bleak muirs are rife with the bad spirits o' the earth and air. Whar drives the man, Geordie? Oh, tell him to turn awa frae thae auld turrets and skreeching owls.
"I suppose you think it would do me good to be preached to three times a day?" she rejoined. "Well, I believe it wouldn't hurt you, Molly," he responded with a smile. His attitude of renouncement drew her suddenly nearer. "It wasn't about Mr. Mullen that I came to talk to you there is something else." "Surely you aren't thinking of Jim Halloween?" "No, no, it isn't a man.
“Just think,” she said, “I have never been to a Halloween party in my life.” “You are the queerest thing, Maida,” Rosie said in perplexity. “You’ve been to Europe. You can talk French and Italian. And yet, you’ve never been to a Halloween party. Did you ever hang May-baskets?” Maida shook her head. “You wait until next May,” Rosie prophesied gleefully.
Within the last fifty years it was a custom of Halloween in many of the houses in Dumfriesshire and Galloway to celebrate by a rude theatrical performance the evil memory of the Laird of Lag.
He dashed into the dining-room and opened the envelope with clumsy fingers. On a diminutive sheet of note paper, decorated at the top with two laughing gnomes, ran an invitation copied from some older person's formula: "Miss Louise Martin requests the pleasure of Mr. John Fletcher's company at a Halloween party to be given at her home on Saturday, October 31st, from eight to ten o'clock."
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