“So I used to think it,” said her aunt.
“Then I s’pose it must be wicked,” said the child regretfully. “I’d have expected you’d have Hallowe’en night here in the house if it hadn’t been very bad. That widow did me a lot of good, showing me what a heap of happy things are full of sin. She knew them all! I s’pose she got them in the tracts. Yes, she did me a lot of good; I—I almost wish I hadn’t met that widow.”
“Do you feel wicked when you’re gay?” asked Miss Ailie.
“Mercy on us! not a mite!” said Bud. “I feel plumb full of goodness when I’m gay; but that’s my youth and innocence. The widow says it is, and I guess what she says goes.”
“Still, do you know, my dear, I’d risk a little gaiety now and then,” said Auntie Ailie. “Who knows? The widow, though a worthy lady, is what in Scotland we call an auld wife, and it’s generally admitted that auld wives of either sex have no monopoly of wisdom. If you’re wanting pious guidance, Bud, I don’t know where you’ll get it better than from Auntie Bell; and she fairly dotes on Hallowe’en and the guizards. By-and-by you’ll see the guizards, and—and—well, just wait and we’ll find what else is to be seen. I do wish your Uncle Dan would hurry.”
The street was quite deserted, but did not show its vacancy until the clouds for a moment drifted off the moon that rolled behind the steeple. Then the long grey stretch of tenements came out unreal and pale on the other side of the street, their eaves and chimneys throwing inky shadows, their red-lit windows growing of a sudden wan. Over them hung the ponderous kirk, the master shadow, and all—the white-harled walls, the orange windows, the glittering cold and empty street—seemed like the vision of a dream. Then the clouds wrapped up the moon again, and the black was the black of Erebus. But as it fell, the dull drums seemed to come nearer, and from the head of the street, the windy corner where Uncle Dan had his office, small moons came, purple and golden, fantastically carved. They ran from house to house, and grouped in galaxies, or singly fell apart, swinging and giddy orbs. For a moment Bud looked at them bewildered, then gave a happy scream.
“The lanterns! the lanterns! look at the lanterns, Auntie. Is that Hallowe’en?”
“That’s part of it, at least,” said her Aunt. “These are the guizards with their turnip lanterns; they’re going round the houses singing; by-and-by we’ll hear them.”
“My! I wish to goodness I had a lantern like that. To swing a lantern like that ’d feel like being a lighthouse or the statue of Liberty at New York. I’d rather have a turnip lantern than a raft of dolls.”
“Did you never have one?”