Marjorie, Jerry, Constance and Irma had diligently gone the rounds of the squalid mill neighborhood, announcing the creation of the nursery to the stolid, wondering inhabitants, and graciously inviting them to bring their children to partake of its benefits. Youngsters from two years of age to six were placed on the eligible list and to the care-worn toilers this enticing offer seemed too good to be true. The nursery was scheduled to open on Saturday afternoon, the first of November. A competent elderly woman and a strong, willing maid had been secured and so far as they knew the Lookouts had left nothing undone that might add to the welfare of their tiny charges.
“Really, children, I think we’ve earned our Hallowe’en party to-night!” exclaimed Marjorie Dean, as in company with Jerry, Irma, Muriel, Susan Atwell and Constance they left the nursery, to which they had repaired after school for a last fond survey of their pet.
“Please hurry over to our house early,” requested Jerry. “This is to be a weird and awesome night when spirits walk abroad and witches ride the air on broomsticks. Don’t one of you dare to forget to bring a broom with you.”
“Very mysterious,” giggled Susan. “I suppose you’ve fixed up some awesome sights for our timid eyes. You’re awfully stingy not to tell us a thing about it beforehand. All we know is that we’re to wear black masks and black dominos, and each bring a broom.”
“All shall be revealed to you in due season.” Jerry raised a dramatic arm, then dropped it and grinned tantalizingly.
“Never mind,” consoled Marjorie. “We haven’t long to wait. It’s five o’clock now. Three hours more and we’ll be in the thick of weird, mysterious happenings.”
“Three hours is as long as three days when one’s curiosity is whetted to a sharp point,” laughed Irma. “Those queer, phosphorescent invitations of yours, Jerry, were enough to keep us guessing what the rest of the party would be like.”
“Some invitations,” chuckled Jerry. “The Crane put me on; I mean gave me the idea for them.”
“When mine came, I opened it and thought somebody had sent me a queer-looking bit of paper for a joke,” confessed Susan, “so I threw it in the waste basket. I had the pleasure of hunting through the basket for it the next day, after Marjorie had explained it to me.” This sheepish admission was followed by Susan’s inevitable giggle, and five voices immediately echoed it.
With the happy prospect of the grand opening of the nursery on the morrow and Jerry’s delightful Hallowe’en frolic that evening, the sextette of girls was in high spirits as they sauntered along in the sharp, October air. Marjorie could hardly remember a time when she had felt more utterly at peace with the world. A quiet happiness permeated her whole being, and she was filled with the sense of satisfaction which the performance of a good deed always brings.