Betty's Happy Year

Betty was glad he had come, for though they had met only a few times, they were good friends, and it was a compliment indeed that he had given her himself as a fate! Of course it was just for that evening, and Betty thought it was very jolly.

With shining eyes and rosy cheeks, she rejoined the others.

“Let’s play a joke on Betty,” said Dorothy to Jeanette, as it neared supper-time.

“How do you mean?”

“This way. Lena says we girls each have to select our partner for supper. She says she won’t have the old-fashioned way of pairing off by matched nuts or flowers or things. Each girl has to ask a boy herself. Now, of course, nobody will ask the boy she really likes best. I wouldn’t myself!”

“Well,” asked Jeanette, “what’s the joke on Betty, then? She won’t ask either Harry or Ralph, and we know she likes them best.”

“That’s just it! Of course Lena will make her choice last, as she’s hostess. Let’s fix it so Betty will be next to last, and let’s leave those two boys till the last. Then Betty will have to choose one or the other of them, and that will be a good joke on her.”

“Yes, it will! And it isn’t a mean joke, either. If there are only those two, she’ll have to select one.”

“But how can we be sure nobody else chooses either Harry or Ralph?”

“Oh, nobody will. They’ll know enough to leave them for Betty. But I’ll whisper to Constance and a few of the girls to make sure.”

The scheme worked well. Lena, in burlesque authority, ordered each fair damsel to choose the knight she most admired, to escort her to supper.

This made great fun, as each girl deliberately ignored the boy she liked best, and chose a brother or a comparative stranger. Betty had made up her mind to choose Jack, and thus evade an embarrassing decision between her two admirers.

But, as one girl after another was called, Betty began to surmise there was some joke in progress.

But Lena said to her, casually, “You and I will go last, Betty,” and so she really suspected little.

But at last no boys were left but Ralph and Harry, and, as Lena announced with twinkling eyes that Betty must make her choice, she saw at once that the girls had pre-arranged this.

It was a difficult situation. Betty had no wish to offend either boy by choosing the other, and she was decidedly in a quandary. She stood looking at them and smiling.

“It’s so hard to choose between you,” she said, provokingly, but really to gain time. Suddenly she bethought herself of the penny in her pocket! Ah, here was a way to circumvent those mischievous girls!

“I’m sorry,” she said, with a little sigh, “that I can’t choose either of you very gentlemanly appearing boys. But my Fate was foretold me, and the talisman that I have here bids me await the coming of the knight appointed for me by Destiny.”

Betty held up her bright penny with a roguish look.

“What do you mean?” exclaimed Lena, who knew nothing of what Hal had said to Betty in the Room of the Fates.

“Ah, here he comes! Here’s the Bad Penny, who always turns up when he’s wanted!”

Hal was just entering the room, his first appearance except in his disguise as “Fate.” He had removed the uncomfortable wig and whiskers, but still wore the gorgeous costume.

The smile with which Betty greeted him quite took away the sting of being called a Bad Penny, and he said gaily:

“A Lucky Penny, rather, to be chosen by such a merry witch!”

So the girls were foiled in their little plot, and Lena, accepting her defeat good-naturedly, declared she had to choose both the remaining knights, and taking an arm of each, she followed the procession to the dining-room.

The feast was abundant and the guests very merry. More fortune-testing was provided in the mottoes and snapdragon, and at last the “fortune-cake” was cut.

This great confection was almost like a bride-cake, save that its frosting was red and chocolate instead of white.

It was decorated with tiny witches and black cats, which were, of course, confectionery, and candles were burning all round it.

In it had been baked a thimble, signifying spinsterhood; a gold ring, betokening matrimony; a penny, meaning wealth; a gold pen for literary fame; a button for a bachelor; and many other tiny emblems of fortune, which were arranged only one to a slice.

By dint of clever manœuvering Lena arranged that Betty should get the slice with the penny in it, and this caused a shout of laughter at Betty’s expense.

But she didn’t mind, and only glanced merrily at Hal, as she said:

“We seem to be irrevocably fated, don’t we?”

“I’m satisfied to have it so,” he replied gallantly, making a gesture like a real stage suitor; and Betty returned saucily:

“So am I – during supper-time!”

After supper they assembled in the “black room” for a fagot party.

The screen was removed from the blazing wood fire, and all sat on the floor, or on cushions or ottomans clustered round the big fireplace.

Each was given a “fagot,” a bundle of tiny sticks tied together with red and black ribbons, and each, in turn, threw the fagot into the fire. While the fagot burned, the thrower was to tell a ghost story, which must stop as soon as the sticks were entirely consumed.

This was a most exasperating performance, for in nearly every instance, just as the thrilling climax of the story was nearly reached, the sticks burned out, and the narrator was not allowed to proceed.

Hal Pennington’s was one of the most interesting.

“Mine is a fearful tale,” he said, as he threw his fagot on the fire, “and I will tell it rapidly that you may all hear the marvelous and almost incredible dénouement.”

The others crowded closer to hear, for Hal spoke in low, mysterious tones.

“It was a house up on Cape Cod,” he began, “an old-fashioned, rambling sort of house, that was said to be haunted. It had long borne this reputation, and one room in particular, a small room at the end of a long ball-room, was said to be the room where the ghost appeared. The people who told about it always shuddered, and refused to tell what horrible shapes the ghost assumed when it made itself visible.”

Harry Harper gave a scared sort of gasping groan, and then the other boys groaned dismally, while the girls shivered and giggled both at once.

“A lot of us fellows,” went on Hal, “didn’t believe in this ghost, and we decided to spend a night in the old house and test it.”

“Did no one live in the house?” asked Betty.

“Oh, no; it hadn’t been occupied for years, because of the ghost. Well, eight of us went there one evening, and one, Phil Hardy, said he would go into the haunted room and lock himself in, and we others must keep watch in the ball-room.”

“Why did he lock himself in?” asked Lena.

“Because he thought the ghost was some person playing a trick on us. He wasn’t afraid of a ghost, but he was of a real marauder. So we other boys stayed in the big, dark, empty ball-room. That is, it was nearly empty – only a few chairs and sofas ranged against the wall. We hid behind these, having previously locked all the doors. You see, we were willing to receive the ghost, but we didn’t care to have burglars coming in. The story was that the ghost came from the hall into the ball-room, traversed the full length of that, and then entered the little anteroom where Phil was keeping watch.

“For a long time we crouched silently behind our chairs, and then – then we heard the latch of the door click! We knew it was securely locked, but our hair rose on our heads as we heard it open and close again. Then footsteps – ”

“Hollow footsteps!” interrupted Harry.

“Yes, hollow footsteps – ”

“And clanking chains,” put in Harry, again.

“Look here, who’s telling this?” demanded Hal. “Well, hollow footsteps and clanking chains resounded on our ears, as we heard the ghost glide the full length of that long room!

“Half scared to death, we peeped out from behind our chairs, but could see nothing, though we all heard the footsteps.

“Then, though it didn’t move, we heard the door open into the room where Phil was, and close again.

“We trembled and turned cold with a mysterious horror, when suddenly an awful shriek broke the silence!”

There was a breathless pause, and then Betty exclaimed: “Oh, what was it?”

“I can’t tell you,” said Hal; “my fagot has burned out!”

“Oh, you fraud!” cried Lena; “you timed it so on purpose!”

“Perhaps I did,” said Hal, smiling; “anyhow, there isn’t a word of truth in my yarn, and I confess I didn’t know quite how to end it up myself!”

“Pooh! that’s no sort of a ghost story!” said Lena, but the others all agreed that it was the best one, and Hal must have the prize.

Then the party broke up, and the ghosts and witches went for their more prosaic hats and wraps.

“Thank you, no; Jack will take care of me,” said Betty, as Hal Pennington asked to escort her home.

“Then mayn’t I go to see you to-morrow?” he said. “Remember, you chose me to-night in preference to your two devoted swains.”

“That was to disguise my real preference,” said Betty, roguishly; “and, besides, I had to choose you, because it was so decreed by Fate!”

“There’s many a true word spoken in jest,” declared Hal, theatrically, and taking a couple of stagy strides across the hall with eyes rolled up to the ceiling; and then, after a chorus of general good nights, Betty and Jack went home.