Kingdon, quite resplendent in the glory of his first Tuxedo jacket, also looked admiringly at his pretty sister.
"You'll do, Mops," he said. "Come on, let's go. It's just seven."
Mrs. Maynard put a lovely white, hooded cape of her own round Marjorie, and carefully drew the hood up over her curls.
"See that your bow is perked up after you take this off," said the mother, as a parting injunction, and then the two children started off.
The parents watched them from the window, as they crossed the street in the moonlight, and Mrs. Maynard sighed as she said, "They're already beginning to grow up."
"But we have some littler ones," said her husband, gaily, as he prepared for a game of romps with Kitty and Rosy Posy.
When King and Marjorie rang the bell at Gladys Fulton's, the door opened very slowly, and they could hear a low, sepulchral groan.
Midge clung to her brother's arm, for though she knew everything was to be as weird and grotesque as possible, yet it was delightful to feel the shudder of surprise.
As the door opened further, they could see that the house was but dimly lighted, and the hall was full of a deep red glow. This was caused by putting red shades on the lights and standing a semi-transparent red screen before the blazing wood-fire in the big fireplace.
The groan was repeated, and then they realized that it said, "Welcome, welcome!" but in such a wailing voice that it seemed to add to the gloom. The voice proceeded from a figure draped in a white sheet.