“Indeed we are!” cried several, as they took their places.
Mr. Rawlins sat down at a table where were a great many papers.
“These are Fortunes,” he said, indicating some neatly folded sheets. “But it would never do to give them out hit or miss. We must see to it that they get where they belong. And this is the only way it can be done. We will invoke the assistance of the Fire Spirit. You know, Hallowe’en is the birthday of the Fire Spirit or Sun Spirit, or some such thing. My Mythology is a little rusty, but you can ask your teachers in school to-morrow. However, I’ve invoked for your aid to-night the Fire Spirit, and he will help us get the Fortunes right. Now, will some kind gentleman volunteer to help the Fire Spirit help me?”
Nobody offered, as the boys felt a little shy about it, so Mr. Rawlins called on his son, Clayton.
“You’ll do, Son,” he said. “You’re not as handsome as some of those other chaps, and not as wise as some, but on the whole you’re a good sort, so come on, and help your old dad.”
Clayton went up and stood by his father’s side.
“Now, you see,” went on Mr. Rawlins, “all these are Fortunes, and all these are small slips of blank paper. I take a Fortune in my hand. I ask of thee, O Fire Spirit, to tell me for whom it is meant! Clayton, please hold a slip of blank paper to the blazing fire. The Fire Spirit will write upon it.”
Clayton picked up the top slip from the pile, and did as he was told. As he held it, writing began to appear.
“Ah,” said Mr. Rawlins, as everybody watched a name being written on the paper, by no means that they could see. “Has the Fire Spirit written, Son?”
“Y-Yes, sir,” stammered Clayton, a little frightened at what he saw.