It happened on Hallowe'en, the time of year which sanctions a brilliant celebration, and a holiday celebration with us was always an event and a happy one.
We usually entertained at such times, not only for the evening but for the afternoon as well, for as we live outside the city, many of our friends had to come a long distance, and those who had not seen each other for some time counted on a reunion of congenial souls.
There were some, of course, who could not come for the afternoon, but those who did, came early, so immediately after lunch we were awaiting the arrival of those who were to join in a paper chase. This was to be followed, upon our return, by an immense bonfire which we were to build to foretell our futures by the pebble prophecy.
Many of our expected guests had never heard before of the ancient Hallowe'en custom of placing pebbles on the ground and then building a fire over them to learn of life or death. As the legend had it, should a pebble be at all disturbed by the heat or falling embers, death would surely follow within the year for the person who placed that pebble.
Solemn rites and ceremonies were performed by many of the younger ones as they, with mock gravity, placed their pebbles in such positions as they believed perfectly safe from disturbance. We built the bonfire with as much care as if it were to endure instead of being destroyed. Soon the flames were shooting through the leafy branches which were piled on top, and the foliage crisping at their touch flashed into still more brilliant hues and vanished far above in thin air.
As we watched the soaring blaze, our spirits soared also. We laughed, we sang, we crowned one another with autumn leaves. One and all, with buoyant step, danced round the fire, hand in hand, madly gay in the flush of exuberant spirits, until the flames began to burn low and dinner time drew near. Then we betook ourselves, still singing and laughing, into the house.
The afternoon had been dark and gloomy. As we were assembling for dinner, one of the guests suggested that, as the weather was becoming more threatening we should go and look for the pebbles before we dined. This was heartily approved, for, if after dinner it should be too dark to find them, our labor would have been in vain and our futures still be in doubt.
We were very merry as we sallied forth to the scene of our late frolic. Some of the embers were already dead, some glowed dimly red, others gave forth tiny spirals of smoke, and, gleaming here and there, were leaping darts of blue and crimson. It was a pretty sight. Who could guess that beneath it all lay a prophecy of a tragedy?
It was an easy matter to find most of the pebbles. Each knew exactly where he had placed his and went directly there. Shouts and laughter were heard on all sides as various ones on finding and trying to pick up their pebbles, dropped them quickly from scorched fingers.
Their evident relief at finding the pebbles safe amused me. Had they taken this thing seriously? As I listened to them I uncovered the place where I had so carefully planted my pebble—an odd-shaped piece of quartz which I had chosen because it could be more easily identified.
It was not there. I gently stirred the embers and ashes surrounding the spot, becoming more and more excited as I failed to locate it. It was not there!
Where was it? Who could have taken it?
The others joined in my search, but we had to give it up as useless. It was not until my friends began to ask me jokingly for any instructions I might have for the elaborate funeral they would surely give me, that the full meaning came over me with sudden force. My blood grew cold in spite of my would-be disbelief; a sickening shiver ran through my veins even while I told myself it was foolishness to imagine that such a prophecy could be fulfilled.
With youthful thoughtlessness my friends increased their tormenting, going into dreadful and painful details. It seemed to me they would never cease, though they surely could see they were making me suffer. Thought and feeling were so confused within me that if I had tried to give them utterance I could have only screamed. My nerves contracted; my head swam giddily, and I felt that my death warrant had been signed.
Then a cord seemed to snap in my brain. Why should I be frightened? I had never been superstitious before; why should I be now? I held a bachelor of science degree from a leading university and had always scoffed at anything bordering upon superstition, yet I was allowing this trifling custom of an ancient time to bother me. To be upset over such a simple incident was nonsense. I would forget all about it and at once.
It was a relief when we were summoned to dinner; and by throwing myself heart and soul into the merriment, where music, laughter and mirth—real and unreal—were mixed together in one harmonious whole, I soon forgot the prophecy of the pebbles.
After dinner our spacious rooms were rapidly filled. Sounds of merry voices and laughter were heard on all sides, and old and young mingled joyously in every old-time Hallowe'en antic and prank of which we had ever heard. I was my normal self again. Never had I been in higher spirits.
Late in the evening some one made the suggestion that we sit in the firelight and tell stories. This was greeted with applause. Everyone was called on in turn to contribute his share of the story telling. Fairy tales and tales of adventure followed one another, but all these were nothing compared to the tales of ghosts and apparitions that succeeded.
There was a wonderful fire in the cavernous old fireplace. The mighty logs, glowing with warmth, were almost bidden by sticks of pine and hickory which were sputtering and crackling with good cheer. The blood-red glare flashed on the faces of those nearest the hearth,
