[A Story of All-Hallow-Eve.]
BY AGNES REPPLIER.
I wonder how many of the children who roast chestnuts or duck for apples on All-hallow-eve have any idea how venerable are the games they play, or how, all the world over, young people are amusing themselves in pretty much the same fashion? In England, girls are strewing the ashes that are expected, though vainly, I fear, to spell the names of whoever loves them best. In Scotland, they are slyly sowing the hemp that their future husbands must come and gather. In Germany, they are making merry efforts to learn their fate with the help of the looking-glass that hangs by their bed. And many of these sports have been played for centuries, and were old even at the time of my story.
More than eighty years ago three little English children were solemnly arranging their mystic games for All-hallow-eve. They were alone in a tiny cottage, nearly half a mile from any neighbor, for father and mother had gone to the town of Ware, taking the baby with them, and would not be back before the next night; so Rupert, Margery, and little Nance, left to each other's company, were preparing without a shadow of fear to amuse themselves in their own fashion. Two big lumps of lead were ready to be melted, and then poured into water, there to assume hundreds of quaint little shapes; the chestnuts, carefully matched and named, were hopping gayly about on the fire-place; and half a dozen rosy-cheeked apples floated tantalizingly in a tub of water, waiting for a courageous diver.
Rupert, a strong and active boy of twelve, captured his apple at every plunge, thrusting his curly head fairly into the tub, and never bringing it out until his teeth were firmly fixed in its glossy sides; Margery, who did not fancy getting wet, only nibbled at hers, and sent it bobbing about the surface of the water; while poor little Nance would dive boldly down, and come up gasping and choking, her blue eyes tight shut, the water streaming from her fair hair, and looking more like a half-drowned kitten than a little girl who had not succeeded in catching a slippery apple.
"It's no use, Nance," said her sister; "you will never get one, if you keep on soaking yourself all night. Let us see now who will be married and who will die. Rupert, you go into the garden, and bring me in some earth on a plate, while I get the ashes and water."
The boy took a dish of yellow stone-ware, and went out to dig up the mould. It was a clear night, but blowing hard, and wild scraps of cloud came flying before the face of the moon, while to his left he saw the white banks of the river Lea, and could hear the rush of the waters as they swept angrily by. How high the river looked! thought Rupert, watching it, trowel in hand, and how loudly it sounded. He had never seen or heard it like that before, and for a moment he stood wondering what had caused this sudden rise. Then Margery's voice calling for the earth made him forget all about it, and in another minute he was back in the warm, bright kitchen, without a thought of the foaming torrent outside.
The little girl placed side by side on the table the three dishes; one of which held the mould, the other ashes, and the third clear water. Then she bound a handkerchief tightly over Nance's eyes, and after turning her around a couple of times to bewilder her, bade her go and put her hand in one of the plates. If she touched the water, she would be married; if her fingers wandered into the ashes, she was doomed to be an old maid; but if she reached the earth first, then she would surely die before the next All-hallow-eve.
Fully impressed with the solemnity of this awful rite, Nance slowly groped her way to the table, and after a moment's indecision put her little fat fingers softly down, when plump they went right into the water. Margery gave a shout of pleasure, and with a sigh of profound relief that her future was so securely settled, Nance unbound the handkerchief and handed it over to her sister. But with her matters were not so promising, for advancing with a great show of confidence, her evil genius led her straight to the ashes, greatly to her own disgust and Rupert's undisguised delight. It was his turn now; but just as his eyes were being bandaged, little Nance called out, "Look! Margery, look! the floor is all wet!"