"He remained thus, listening, while the evening wore away. In spite of his fear Simon became drowsy. The wind outside had risen, and was rattling the shutters and roaring in the chimney, causing the fire to brighten and burst into a feeble flame. Then a wonderful thing happened! The great hall suddenly became ablaze with the light of hundreds of candles. In wonder Simon raised his head and saw a stately procession of men and women, fully fifty couples, arm-in-arm descending the stairs. They wore beautiful clothing—not a bit like the people in the village—but such as Simon had never seen before, except in pictures. He who was apparently the host strode over to the fire and kicked the logs into a blaze, while others gathered about it to warm their hands. Simon thought the scene a grand sight, with their lace ruffles, knee-breeches, wigs, and buckled shoes; and he was lost in admiration of the women, with their powdered hair and white shoulders, their jewels, and their bright eyes which shone so coquettishly above their fans. If these were ghosts, he reflected, they were very gallant ones, and good to look at; he was beginning to be glad he had come when the host suddenly clapped his hands together, and looking his way, ordered the music to begin. There seemed nothing out of the way in all this to Simon as he tucked his fiddle beneath his chin, and drawing the bow across the strings, commenced playing a waltz. Partners were chosen, and the dancing began. Simon, as usual, went from one tune to another, but these people never tired; all night long the dancing continued; and when Simon, weary and thirsty, paused from habit to reach for the mug of ale which was not at his elbow, the host glared at him so furiously that he went on playing more frantically than ever. Faster and faster the mad phantoms danced, swirling around and around the room; faster and faster he fiddled, till his arm ached and his back felt broken; and just as the revel had reached the highest pitch and the fiddle was squeaking its loudest, the stairway against which he was leaning seemed to give way, and Simon fell with a crash. Dazed and bruised from the fall, he sat up; the phantoms had vanished, the lantern was out, and the fire had burned down and was casting flickering shadows about the walls. In growing horror, Simon ran screaming from the house, and down the road to the inn as fast as his legs could carry him. He burst in upon them, his fiddle clutched tightly in one hand, the picture of terror.
"Of course, his story was greeted with knowing looks and sly winks behind his back; and he told it to all who would listen. He continued to fiddle about the village as he had done before, but he was never quite the same after that adventure; the haunted house seemed to have a fascination for him, and it was noticed that he hung about it frequently, though he never entered. And when he announced his intention of spending the next New Year's Eve with the phantoms, the people knew he was crazy and urged him not to do so. But he could not resist; early in the evening of that last day of the year, he was seen making his way towards the haunted house, his fiddle beneath his arm.
"He never came back!"
CHAPTER XII
THE DINNER-DANCE
"And I thought all along that Miss Phillips didn't care!"
Marjorie made the remark softly, almost as if she were talking to herself instead of to Lily, as the girls sat together in their room crocheting after supper. All the Scouts had pledged the hour of seven to eight in the evening, unless something unusual was going on, to work for the bazaar.
"Didn't care about what?" asked Lily. "Men?"