"Hurry up and cut a nose," Patty whispered. "I'm smothering!"
"It seems sort of too bad to spoil a perfectly good pillow slip," said Priscilla, with a slight access of conscience.
"I'll drop some money in the missionary box," Patty promised.
The nose and eyes were cut; a grinning mouth and devilishly curved eyebrows were added with burnt cork. The pillow slip was tied firmly about her neck to allow no chance of slipping, the ears waved lopsidedly; she was the most amazing specter that ever left a respectable grave.
These preparations had occupied some time. It was already ten minutes of twelve.
"I'll wait till the stroke of midnight," said Patty. "Then I'll flutter into Evalina's room, and wave my wings, and whisper, 'Come!' The monkey-wrench and the pie, I'll leave on the foot of her bed, so she'll know she wasn't dreaming."
"What if she screams?" asked Priscilla.
"She won't scream. She loves ghosts—especially Cousin Susan. She said to-night she'd be glad to meet her."
"But what if she does scream?" persisted Priscilla.
"Oh, that's easy! I'll dash back and pop into bed. Before anybody wakes, I'll be sound asleep."