"A Children's Celebration of Hallowe'en"

by Isabel Gordon Curtis, October 1905

Yet another narrative of an early 1900s Hallowe'en party. I have included the "scary refrain" of the Eugene Field poem in the story, but was not part of it originally. Imagine those "real electric lights" blazing up to a party of children perhaps only used to the dimness of gaslight!

Thirty-one children to be entertained—a guest for each of October's golden days—and Hallowe'en to be celebrated! There are easier things to do. Such "stunts" as mirror-gazing at the shivery hour of midnight, as following a thread through a dark cellar, or pulling kalestocks; none of them could be called child's play. Something had to be planned that was different, something entertaining and "Hallowe'eny."

The invitations, which were sent out a week in advance, read as follows:

Won't you come to my Hallowe'en party, from 6 to 9, Saturday, October 31? Please wear real play-clothes.

Sylvia Hall,
25 Park Avenue.

In the corner of each card was a tiny watercolor sketch—a witch riding a broom, a blinking owl, or a broad-winged bat.

Every response was an acceptance, and straightway preparations for the party began. From a farm-house we drove home one day with a load of cornstalks, pumpkins, and carrots. Everybody in the household who could use a jack-knife was pressed into service. Big pumpkins and little were transformed into lanterns, with faces upon which black or white paint had sketched queer eyebrows or fierce mustachios. They were distributed about the house: tucked among russet oak-leaves and green pine-boughs on each mantel, set lantern-fashion on a newel post in the hall, or hung here and there from overhead grilles. Cornstalks were stacked beside a fireplace at a safe distance from the fire, and the house was lit dimly by pumpkin-heads or candles set in hollowed carrots.

The dining-table was set with a group of carrot candlesticks and bowlfuls of apples, nuts, grapes, and candy. Upon a fat pumpkin was perched a Hallowe'en witch holding a handful of raffia, which came from the mouth of a grab-bag. In her black gown, peaked hat, and flying red cloak, with a veritable broomstick in her hand, she was the star of indoors. On the lawn, ready to offer a welcome to every guest who arrived, was a greater star, a life-size witch, with a pair of twinkling red eyes which could be seen two blocks distant. Her framework was a rough wooden cross with one end hewn to a sharp stake which was driven into the ground. Pillows were tied about her lath-like form for shapeliness, while her garb was a nightgown. The pumpkin-head was of noble proportions, the hair was a bunch of black raffia, and over it perched a lordly hat with a peak nearly a yard high, wide brim, and a crisp scarf of orange-colored paper tied in a magnificent bow at one side. The head was nailed securely to the framework, and inside the candies flared safely, for the witch's cap was lined with asbestos. That she made a hit would be praising her mildly; if her feet had not been securely planted in the earth she might have been tempted to curtsey from the attention she received.

When fifteen small girls filed downstairs, led by their young hostess, they were blindfolded one by one, and each played a game of blindman's buff with the boys in the hall, the one who was captured being her partner for supper. It shattered in an instant the ice which has always to be broken at a children's party. The crowd watching blindman's-buff began to shriek with laughter which grew to genuine hilarity when the sixteenth girl chased the sixteenth boy into a corner. There was a hungry rush at half-past six for the dining-room and parlor where eight small tables were set, four children being seated at each. The supper was a simple one, consisting of tongue and chicken sandwiches, with stuffed potatoes, baked apples with whipped cream, gingerbread men, chocolate, nuts, and grapes.

When the evening's fun began, a jolly young aunt was appointed referee and recorder in the various games. The first part of the program was held in the kitchen while tables were being cleared and dishes carried to the butler's pantry. There was, of course, a tub filled with lukewarm water (it was too chilly a night for a cold plunge), and in it floated a score of rosy apples. Bobbing for them was no end of fun, and the first youngster clever enough to bring one up in his or her teeth was given the first place on the list of honor, which meant later the first chance at the grab-bag.

An apple tied to a string was swinging in a doorway—it got bitten at last—then fifteen minutes were spent over what the small hostess called " candle-boats." It excited curiosity enough when there was handed about a plateful of walnut shell-halves. Each one was numbered on the bottom with India ink, then into it had been poured a spoonful of paraffin. In the center stood a bit of oil-soaked, cotton string to make a wick. The children, each one keeping in memory the number of his walnut-shell, crowded about the tub on the kitchen floor, and on its waters was launched a fleet of burning candle-boats. All sorts of exciting adventures befell them: they bumped into each other, one or two were capsized, some took fire and burned up, while a few sailed on serenely with their little candles burning up the last drop of grease. The last survivor was inspected for its number, then its owner's name went third on the roll of honor.

There was no greater fun during the evening than a "peanut carry." The boys chose partners and were ranged in two lines from the dining-room to the parlor. At the end of each line was a table; one held a big basket of peanuts, beside the other stood the umpire, with her pencil and paper. On it was a wooden bowl and two plates. When the umpire called a girl's name she and her partner walked down the center to the farther table. Covering the backs of their hands with all the peanuts they could hold, they carried them to the other table, where they were counted. It sounds like an easy task, but the winner had only seven or eight peanuts to his credit. When the children began to giggle, when hands grew shaky, or a walk quickened into a run, the peanuts went tumbling everywhere to the delight of the onlookers.

There was a game of bean-bags, then a spirited soap-bubble contest. For this partners were drawn again and a ribbon stretched from end to end of the room, with boys on one side of it and girls on the other. It was played almost like a tennis game, a girl blowing a bubble to her partner, who wafted it back. The contest went down the line, and the children who kept a bubble floating for two minutes won. At last thirty-two names were down on the referee's list and everybody gathered about the grab-bag in front of the witch-doll, who yielded up her reins of raffia. Each boy and girl, according to his or her place upon the list, pulled at a black or an orange-colored strand of raffia. One jerk brought out a bundle wrapped in tissue-paper—and such queer things were unwrapped, velvet cats and china elephants, feathered roosters or tiny dolls, old women who nodded their heads, and old men who winked their eyes, long-tailed mice, or fat little owls, and Japanese novelties without end.

What a stampede there was down cellar when the jolly aunt appeared with a corn-popper, tin pans, and a package of popcorn. Upstairs they came again presently with half a bushel of hot, snowy-white kernels. Then with bowlfuls of popcorn and peanuts they made a circle about the jolly aunt, who announced that the last half-hour was to be devoted to something very weird and "Hallowe'eny." She sat before a low table chanting softly, while into a saucer she tossed a tablespoonful of salt and poured alcohol upon it from a silver flagon. When she touched it with a match it blazed up in a blue uncanny flame. Then she began in a slow, deep voice:

"Little Orphan Annie's come to our house to stay!"

She had scarcely reached the last verse when the saucer-lamp flared strangely and went out. The reader lit it again, with her salt and alcohol, and recited:

"All around the house in the jet-black night,
It stares through the window pane,"

but the light went out as she whispered slowly,

"All the wicked shadows coining tramp, tramp, tramp!"

There followed Eugene Field's ghostly "Seein' Things," with its "scary" refrain.

Sometimes they 're in the corner, sometimes they 're by the door,
Sometimes they 're all a-standin' in the middle uv the floor;
Sometimes they are a-sittin' down, sometimes they 're walkin' round
So softly an' so creepylike they never make a sound!
Sometimes they are as black as ink, an' other times they 're white—
But the color ain't no difference when you see things at night!

But as she ended the last stanza, the lights suddenly blazed up, real electric lights instead of tallow dips in carrot candlesticks, and the clock struck nine. There was a scurry upstairs for warm caps and coats. "Good nights" were said, not only to the little lady hostess, her tall mother, and the jolly aunt, but to the witch-lady on the lawn, whose round eyes still glowed. Her black raffia hair was blowing across her pumpkin face; she could not very well push it aside, for her arms were stretched out stiffly and her back would not bend.

It had been a very jolly Hallowe'en; even the witch-lady seemed to acknowledge it the next morning, when her head was carried down cellar and her queer wooden leg bumped its way up the attic stairs.

"Hallowe'en Happenings"

by Carolyn Wells, November 1907

Children trick or treating at Halloween is a mid-20th century custom. It began in a small way in the mid-1930s world tired of children playing pranks on that night, but did not become hugely popular until after World War II. The usual entertainment for the Hallowe'en—note the spelling!—of old was a party.

For real, rollicking, frolicking fun, there is nothing more jolly than a Hallowe'en party.

The observance of Hallowe'en, or All-Hallow Eve, is a tradition handed down from the ancient Druids, who celebrated their harvest festival on the last day of October. The next day was AllHallows', or All-Saints' Day, and so they called the festival All-Hallow E'en.

The gay games of modern times are not much like the solemn rites of the Druids, but a connection may be traced between the supernatural beliefs of the ancients, and the burlesque attempts to pry into the mysteries of the future, which our own Hallowe'en fun represents.

Long after the time of the Druids, simpleminded country people continued to believe in charms and witchcraft, and especially claimed that on the night of October 31 witches and goblins held revel, and fairies danced about in the woods. From thse spirits, or their manifestations, it was believed that the future could be foretold and human destinies discovered. As our celebration of the occasion is merely a whimsical adaptation of all this, there is one thing clear at the outset: To a successful Hallowe'en party, the young guests must bring a large stock of imagination, a zest for merriment, and an unfailing fund of good humor. For many Hallowe'en tricks result in turning the laugh on one or another, and this must be accepted in a gay, good-natured spirit. Old-fashioned Hallowe'en parties were held in the kitchen, and where this is practicable, it is a good plan for many of the games. But all of the rooms used should be decorated with trophies of the harvest. Pumpkins, apples, grain stalks, and autumn leaves, offer materials for beautiful and effective trimming; and, if desired, draperies of red and yellow cheese-cloth, and ornamentations of red and yellow crepe paper, may be added. Jack-o'-lanterns are, of course, a necessity. All boys know how to scoop out pumpkins, cut grotesque faces on them and insert candles. But don't stop with the pumpkins. Make lanterns also of queer-shaped squashes, turnips, cucumbers, and even apples.

For invitations to a Hallowe'en party, find a large oak or maple leaf in bright autumn tints. Lay this on a paper and trace the shape, then tint it in gay colors, and write the invitation thereon; or. use cards decorated with tiny sketches of Jack-o'-lanterns, witches on broomsticks or black cats. Some such verse as this may appear on the card:

Hallowe'en will tell you true
What the Future holds for you.
Thursday evening, just at eight,
Come, prepared to learn your Fate.

When the guests arrive, the house should be but dimly lighted, and a weird and mysterious atmosphere should prevail. Red shades on the lights, or a red screen before the open fire, give a soft, rich glow. The guests may be received by some one dressed as a witch, or garbed in a white sheet to represent a ghost. Welcome should be spoken in sepulchral tones and accompanied by groans or wails. Some one may play snatches of wild, weird music on the piano or strike occasional clanging notes from muffled gongs. Jack-o'-lanterns peer from unexpected places and, if convenient, an Aeolian harp may be arranged in an open window. The awesomeness of effect will be sufficiently relieved by the irrepressible laughter of the merry guests as they arrive.

It is well to begin with the simpler sort of Hallowe'en games. First comes the Initial Letter. Pare an apple in one continuous piece. Swing it slowly around your head three times, and let it fall on the floor. The letter it forms as it falls will be the initial of your future Fate. This incantation should be pronounced as the experiment is tried:

Paring, paring, long and green,
Tell my Fate for Hallowe'en.

The Mirror is another test. A girl must stand with her back to a mirror, and, looking over her shoulder, repeat this charm:

Mirror, mirror, tell to me
Who my future Fate may be.
Ere the magic moments pass,
Frame his picture in the glass.

A merry trick is Blowing out the Candle. A boy and a girl may try this at the same time. Each must be blindfolded, and after turning around three times may try to blow out a lighted candle. A prize may be given to the one who succeeds. Hallowe'en prizes should be plentiful and of trifling value. Also, let them be, as far as possible, appropriate to the occasion. Penwipers may be in the shape of witches' peaked hats, bats, brooms, black cats, autumn leaves, or wee white ghosts. Pin-cushions may represent tiny pumpkins, tomatoes, apples, or radishes. Peanut owls, black velvet witches, chenille imps, and other weird or grotesque figures will suggest themselves, and in the shops may be found inexpensive trinkets suggestive of the day.

Another prize game is Biting the Apple. A large apple is suspended by a string, and two or more players try to catch it and take a bite. It is not permissible to touch the apple with the hands, and if the merry contestants forget this, their hands may be tied behind their backs.

A good variation of this game is to take a barrel hoop and suspend it from the ceiling so that it will swing and revolve freely. From it, at intervals, suspend by short strings, apples, nuts, candies, cakes, and candle-ends. Who gets by chance a candle-end, must pay a forfeit, while the dainties are considered prizes of themselves. Another rollicking form of this game is called Bobbing for Apples. A large tub is half-filled with water, and in it a number of apples are set floating. Previously the initials of each one of the guests have been cut upon an apple. All those with girls' initials are put in at one time and the boys endeavor to draw out the apples with their teeth while their hands are tied behind them Then the girls bob likewise for the apples which bear the boys' initials The apple secured is supposed to represent the future Fate of the lad or lassie.

A true Hallowe'en game is the Fateful Ice-cream. In a mound or brick of ice-cream are hidden a dime, a ring, and a thimble. The dish is passed around and each guest eats a spoonful. Whoever chances to get the dime is destined to great wealth; the ring betokens matrimony, and the thimble single blessedness for life.

Popping corn, though of no fateful significance, is an indispensable part of the program, and must not on any account be omitted. Pop-corn, somehow, seems to belong to Hallowe'en.

Popping Chestnuts is a more serious matter. Two chestnuts are laid on an open fire or hot stove, and the inquiring maiden names each for a youth of her acquaintance. According to the Hallowe'en superstition, if one nut pops or bursts, that suitor is the unlucky one, but if it burns with a steady glow until consumed to ashes, it shows a true and faithful lover. So old is this particular ceremony, that no less a poet than John Gay thus writes of it:

Two hazel-nuts I throw into the flame,
And to each nut I give a sweetheart's name,
This, with the loudest bounce me sore amazed;
That, in a flame of brightest color blazed.
As blazed the nut, so may thy passion glow,
For't was thy nut that did so brightly glow.

Threading the Needle is a test of a steady hand. A boy or a girl may hold a needle while the other tries to thread it. Each must use but one hand, and sometimes he or she is to hold in the other hand a full cup of water which must not be spilled. If the needle is finally threaded the two are presumably destined for each other. The other young people help or hinder the pair by chanting this charm:

Needly, thready, Steady! Steady!
Where's the thread? The needle's ready.
Now you have it, and now you don't!
Now she will, and now she won't!
Aim it true, and aim it straight,
And behold your future Fate!
Now it's here, and now it's there,
Changing, ranging everywhere.
Watch more carefully, and then
You may see it! Fooled again!

Needless to say, the last line often rings out most appropriately.

The Bowl of Flour is a pretty test of who shall he the first bride or bridegroom of the group. Pack a bowl very tightly with flour, and in it drop a wedding-ring. Invert the bowl on a platter, and remove it carefully, leaving a compact mound of flour. With a broad, silver knife, let each guest cut off a slice of the flour. As it crumbles, if it contain the ring, it is an omen of approaching marriage.

Counting the Seeds is a game all may play at once. Each is given an apple, which is at once cut in two, crossways, and the seeds counted. If two seeds are found, it portends an early marriage; three indicates a legacy; four, great wealth; five, an ocean trip; six, great public fame: seven, the possession of any gift most desired by the finder.

Nutshell Boats make a pretty test of Fortune. In the half shells of English walnuts are fitted masts made of matches, and tiny, paper sails. On each sail is written the name of a guest, and the boats are set afloat in a tub of water. If two glide together, it indicates a similar fate for their owners; if one sails alone, it means a lonely life. A gentle stirring up of the water will make the boats behave in an amusing manner.

The Three Saucers is said to be an unerring revelation of Fate. One saucer must contain clear water, another soapy water or water into which a drop of ink has been spilled, and the third saucer is empty

A girl is blindfolded, and must dip her finger into one saucer. If the empty one, she will always remain single; if the soapy water, she will marry a widower: but if she touch the clear water, her Fate will be a handsome and wealthy husband.

And as a parting peep into the mysteries of the Future, let the hostess, or some grown-up read the palms of the young people. This need not be scientific palmistry, but a merry make-believe, wherein the fortune-teller can gravely assure the young inquirers of astounding events or fabulous delights which may come into their future lives.

After merry and rollicking games, it is a welcome rest to sit down to Fagot stories. The hostess should have in readiness a number of small fagots or bunches of small dry twigs tied together with a bit of ribbon. One should be given to each guest. These, in turn, are thrown on the fire, and each guest must tell a story that shall last as long as his or her fagot is blazing.

"Fine, or Superfine?"

by Sarah Winter Kellog, November 1880

Nineteenth century children had no "bouncy houses," entertainers, or pizza parties. At parties they usually played parlor games. Those who lost had to play "forfeits." Imagine not inviting more friends because the tablecloth would be too short!

In the company that night, there were four boys and four girls, and they were Gay's most particular friends. He would have liked to invite three other young people, but eight made a convenient number—just enough for a quadrille, with Gay's lady-sister at the piano; the right number, too, for comfortable seating at the table, though a larger number were seatable by putting in the last leaf; but then the best table-cloth—the very best—the snow-drop damask, would not reach by three inches. Of course, this defect might be managed by piecing with a fine towel, and setting the tea-tray over the piecing. But it was better to have things come out even and comfortable.

After the party had enjoyed the tea, and had looked at the albums, autographic and photographic, at the stereoscopic pictures, and at Gay's collection of coins and of postage-stamps, and at his lady-sister's collection of sea-weeds, some inspired boy proposed games.

Everybody said: "Oh! Yes! Let's!" and each proposed a separate game.

'Simon says wig-wag" was selected. The lady-sister volunteered her services as prompter.

There was great merriment. The frequent lapses among the players created a stream of forfeits. In fifteen minutes, every boy's pocket was emptied of knife, purse, pencil, rubber, and anything else available for a pawn, and not one of the girls had a handkerchief left, or a bracelet, or ring, or flower, or a removable ribbon. All such articles were piled on the sofa beside the tyrannical Simon, as penalties paid for inattention to his orders.

"Now, we 'll redeem the pawns," said Simon, perceiving that the interest in wagging and thumbsdown was waning.

John Dabney was selected as master of ceremonies, the lady-sister acted as blind judge, and the redeeming of forfeits began.

"Heavy! Heavy! Heavy! What hangs over you?" John cried, with ponderous tone, as he held over the lady-sister's head a handkerchief of cobwebby lace, that swayed in the window-breeze as it in refutation of his tone and words.

"Fine, or superfine?" asked the judge, through the handkerchief over her face.

"Fine," answered John, with confidence.

"Oh, you must say it 's superfine, if it 's a girl's pawn," somebody said.

"Oh, yes! I understand now," said John. "It's superfine. What shall the owner do?"

"Act the dumb servant," ordered the judge.

"Go along, Sarah; it 's yours," was the call.

"Sarah Ketchum can't act the dumb servant; she can't keep from talking long enough. And, besides, she can't act the servant, she 's so used to making servants of other folks. Give her the talking mistress to act, and she 'll do that as if she was born to it."

It was Hal who was flinging out all these jokes at Sarah Ketchum's expense. He and Sarah were always sparring.

"Sarah shows that she can be dumb and humble by not replying to your chaffing," Maggie said, as the elected actor took position and faced the audience.

"How do you wash dishes?" John asked of the dumb servant.

"By proxy!" Hal volunteered.

Sarah reached a vase from the mantel.

"One of her dishes," commented the audience, "and the pansy lamp-mat is the dish-cloth."

The dumb actor dipped the mat into a card-receiver, and made believe to wash the vase, a volume of Whittier's poems, and a paper-weight.

When the washing was ended, Maggie threw out a criticism:

"She leaves her dish-cloth in the greasy water, and does n't empty the dish-pan."

"How do you dress a chicken?" the dumb servant was asked.

Sarah looked about, seeking materials for an object-lesson. She caught sight of a stuffed owl. Like a masterful eagle, she possessed herself of it. Then she darted out of the room, presently returning with a doll-trunk. From this, she produced pantalets for the owl's legs, a ruff for its neck, a hat for its head, and soon it stood in full dress and spectacles, looking so wise and so funny that the children laughed heartily.

"How do you take care of the baby?" John asked the dumb servant, interrupting the laughing comments on Master Owl's appearance as a "dressed chicken."

The dumb servant walked over to her traditional enemy Hal, who, fortunately, had a plump, round face, quite in keeping with the character of baby.

He occupied a rocking-chair. Sarah laid his head against the chair-back, and began singing in pantomime, "Hush, my dear; lie still and slumber!" in the meantime rocking him so violently that the baby clutched the chair's arms in terror. Then, quite in character with the traditional nurse, she seized a large flower-vase and pretended to pour some drug into his mouth, in a way that made him gag and sneeze, and contort his face.

"No need to give him sleeping-drops," someone commented; "he 's one of the famous seven, already."

Hal, instead of sleeping on his soothing-syrup, sat up straight as a crock, stretched his eyes wide open, and showed unusual animation. Whereupon the dumb nurse administered such fresh rockings and shakings as must have revenged her for many an attack she had received from Hal.

The master of ceremonies rescued the baby from further infliction, by waving a wand, in other words, a lead-pencil, and pronouncing the spell of silence removed from Sarah.

"Fine, or superfine?" demanded the blind justice, when assured that something hung over her.

"Fine, only. What shall the owner do to redeem it?"

"Put one hand where the other can't touch it," the judge pronounced.

"Hal's! It's Hal's!" the young people cried, in joyful excitement.

Hal stood up, facing the company, the impersonation of smiles.

"Now, go ahead. Do it," said Alfred.

Hal launched out on the sea of experimenting, by placing the right hand on the right shoulder.

"Oh!" said Alfred. "Of course you can touch that hand with the left," and Hal immediately demonstrated that he could do this.

Then the right hand went between his shoulder-blades, but was presently met by the left. Then under the right knee was tried, but this, too, as well as the left, turned out to be accessible to both hands.

"Hal thinks that his right arm is longer than his left, and can outreach it," said Sarah Ketchum.

Maggie, who had been trying to solve the puzzle, now expressed the opinion that the thing could n't be done.

So said one and another.

"I '11 tell you, Hal, how you might do it," said Alfred. "If you could get one hand in your mouth, then you 'd have it where the other could n't touch it."

But Hal, unheeding Alfred's fun, kept on twisting and screwing, finding out much more about his joints and the movements of muscles and the relations of parts than he had remarked in years before.

Suddenly, he cried out, "There! I 've got it!"

His right hand was on the left elbow, and his left hand was straining to reach the right. Instantly everybody's right hand was put on the left elbow, testing Hal's solution.

"That's it!" "He's done it!" "Hurrah for Hal!"

Hal went to his seat, flushed with exercise and triumph, and the play proceeded.

"What shall the owner do?" John demanded, concerning another pawn.

"Measure on the wall the height of a stove-pipe hat from the floor. Failing to come within an inch of the height, the owner must leave the room, and come back with more arms than two."

"That's easy enough," said the sentenced, who was no less a personage than Sarah Ketchum.

She made a mark on the wall, as her estimate of the hat's height. It was nearly nine inches from the floor.

"Oh, it is n't that high," said Alfred, laughing gayly.

Then the others said, "No!" "Yes!" "No, it is n't!" "Yes, it is!" etc.

"Bring the stove-pipe," said Sarah. "I'm sure I 'm within an inch of being right."

But when the hat was set on the floor, there were several exclamations of surprise.

Sarah had failed, and the conditional sentence was repeated.

"Leave the room, and return with more arms than two."

When she had gone, all fell to wondering how she would do this. Some thought she might come back carrying a statuette; some said it would be a doll, if she could find one; others were sure she would wheel in an arm-chair. But their surmises were speedily ended, as Sarah's re-entrance was greeted with laughter and cheers. Over one shoulder she carried a gun and a broom; in one hand was a revolver, while in her belt gleamed two carving-knives.

Alfred was the next one called out. He was required to place a yard of wrapping-cord upon the floor in such a manner that two persons standing on it would not be able to touch each other with their hands.

It was a sight to sec those girls and boys manipulate that string. They laid it straight, they laid it zigzag, they curved it, they did it into a circle. Finally, they owned themselves beaten. Then Gay's lady-sister opened the door, laid the string across the sill, stationing Hal on one end of the cord and Sarah Ketchum on the other; she closed the door between them, turned the key in the lock, and said, loud enough for both to hear:

"Now, shake hands, good friends!"

Then everybody saw that it was "just as easy as anything."

The next penalty, Fred Groots was to pay. He was to put a question the answer to which would be always wrong. This was a great puzzler. All early gave it up, and called imperatively on the judge to explain. She replied:

"What does WRONG spell?"

"How easy!" "What stupids we were!"

"Place that silver vase on the floor so that one cannot step over it," was the judge's next order.

It was Gay's pawn that this was to redeem.

"Well, there!" said Gay, setting the vase in the center of the room.

"But one can step over that," was claimed.

"No; one can't," Gay replied, with confidence.

"Why, what nonsense!" said the boys, gathering about the vase, and striding over it, back and forth.

"There!" "Can't we?" they demanded.

"Yes," Gay admitted, but added, with a superior air: "You can; but I know one who can't; one Muscovy duck, and also one mosquito."

Then the judge, not satisfied with Gay's solution, put the vase close up in a corner, and said:

"Now, let us see you step over it."

They saw then that they could n't.

The next requisition was upon Maggie. She was to put Gay through into the adjoining room, without opening the door, and without leaving the room.

"Why," said Gay," she could n't put me in there if she had all the improved war projectiles, that is, if I did n't want to go."

"Oh! that's the way," said one of the girls, "she's to put you in there by moral suasion. You '11 go through the front door and come around."

"That's not the way," said the judge. "I'll state the sentence in another form. Maggie is to put Gay through the key-hole."

"I know," said Maggie, bubbling with eagerness. "Give me a pencil. I '11 write 'Gay' on a slip of paper, and put it through the key-hole."

The last sentenced was Clara. She was to push the baby-carriage, which was standing in the next room, through her bracelet.

How do you think she did it?