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Grace Harlowe's Plebe Year at High School

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<h3>ALL HALLOWE'EN</h3> "Anne," called a chorus of boys' and girls' voices, "come out and have some fun. Have you forgotten it's Hallowe'en?" The door of the Pierson cottage opened and Anne appeared on the threshhold. "I can't," she answered; "I must study to-night." "Oh, bother lessons!" exclaimed Grace Harlowe. "Skip them, for once, and join the crowd. We are going Hallowe'ening. Mother allowed it because David Nesbit and Reddy Brooks are along to look after us." Anne looked longingly at the little company. "I'll come," she sighed, "although it was my algebra I was working on. You know Miss Leece hates me, and, if I slip up, she'll be much harder than any of the other teachers." "Hang Miss Leece!" said David promptly. "Well, let's hang her, then," exclaimed Nora. "Let's dress her up and hang her on a limb of a tree." "What do you mean by 'hang' her?" asked Grace, while Anne went in to put on her hat and coat. "Don't you know?" replied Nora. "You stuff an old dress full of hay and paper, make a head out of any old thing, put a hat on it, and there you have her mighty fine." "That's an old stunt, Nora," observed David. "Let's have something more improved and up-to-date. Suppose, for instance, we use Marian's Jack-o'-lantern for the head. I'll put some little electric bulbs in the eye holes and attach them to a battery so that we can turn her eyes off and on. And we'll ride her on a broomstick in good style." "Only, nobody must know it's Miss Leece whose being effigied," urged Grace. "This must be merely for our own private satisfaction. Everybody promise not to tell." Everybody promised; so, with Anne safely in tow, they started for Jessica's house to make the figure. Here they were not likely to be interrupted. Jessica's mother was dead and her father spent most of his evenings in his library. Half a broomstick, with a small pumpkin attached to one end, formed the framework of Miss Leece's effigy. A cross beam gave a human touch to the shoulders and with the skeleton ready, the business of stuffing an old ulster and hanging it over the figure was simple. Tiny electric bulbs were placed in the eyes and a bonnet tied on the head with a green veil floating behind. Miss Leece, Nora insisted, always wore one growing out of her left ear. There was nothing left to do now, but to place the figure in a legless chair that had been nailed to two poles, and the procession was ready. "She's a very fine lady," cried Grace, running ahead to get the effect of the absurd lopsided figure whose eyes glared and went out alternately. "I wish the real Miss L. could see herself now. She would know exactly what she looks like when she glares at poor little Anne in class." "Yes, Anne," said David, "this shall be your party. We are going to give you satisfaction for your wrongs in the only way that lies in our power." "Oh, I don't really mind her," replied Anne, "only I'm afraid she'll catch me unprepared, some day, and then I will get it in earnest." "It's a perfect outrage," exclaimed Grace. "Miss Leece is so cruel to little Anne, David, that it makes my blood boil. I sometimes think she is trying to make Anne lose the freshman prize." "The old Hessian!" cried David, who was on a sort of rampage that evening. "What shall I do to her, Anne? Give her an electric shock?" and he pressed the electric button rapidly up and down, which made the eyes glare hideously and go out several times in succession. In a town the size of Oakdale strolling parties of boys and girls, on Hallowe'en night, made a not unusual sight, so when our young people paraded boldly down the main street, singing and blowing horns, nothing was thought of it. What they were doing might be considered exceedingly out of place by a few straightlaced persons, but boys and girls will have their fun, even if it must sometimes be at the expense of other people. Certainly Miss Leece was the most unpopular teacher ever employed in the High School as far back as memory could reach. She was cruel, strict and sharp-tongued. Often her violent, unrestrained temper got the better of her in the class room; then she gave an exhibition that was not good for young girls to see. Anne, especially, was the victim of her rages—poor little Anne who never missed a lesson and studied twice as hard as the other girls. Miss Leece had but one weakness, apparently, and that was Miriam Nesbit. Twice had the faculty convened in secret session to consider Miss Leece's case, but it had been decided to keep her through the year at least, since she was engaged by contract and was moreover an excellent instructor in mathematics. So, it was no wonder that even this early in the school year, she was the object of dislike to the High School girls. But could our girls have foreseen what the evening's fun would bring forth, they would never have been so reckless in carrying the effigy about town. "Suppose we take her across the square," cried Reddy; "then over the bridge to the old graveyard and hang her on the limb of the apple tree just outside the wall?" Off they started, singing at the tops of their voices: <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> Hang a mean teacher on a sour apple tree, Hang a mean teacher on a sour apple tree. </div> </div> When they reached the center of the public square, where a big electric light shed its rays, who should spring out of the shadows, from nowhere apparently, but Miss Leece herself? Nothing escaped her sharp ears and her cold blue eyes; neither words of the song nor the figure in detail, green veil and all; nor Anne Pierson, who happened to be standing quite near the effigy at the moment. And what was worse, and still more incriminating to the guilty merrymakers, the moment they caught sight of her they stopped singing. The eyes in the pumpkin suddenly lost their glare, and a silent procession wound its way hurriedly from the square. "Good heavens!" cried Grace. "Why did we stop the song? If we had only gone right ahead, it wouldn't have looked half as bad." "It was a mistake," admitted David, gravely, "especially as she seemed to have seen Anne first of all. Anne, if she walks into you to-morrow morning, you can just lay the blame on me, do you hear? I got up the whole party and I'm willing to stand for it." "No, no," cried Anne. "That wouldn't be fair, David. I couldn't think of doing that." "Well, you are not to get the blame, at any rate," said David, "if I have to go up and make a confession to the principal herself." "Let's go and hang her now, anyhow," cried Reddy. "We'll take no half-way measures with old Queen Bess." But somehow the spice of the adventure seemed to have gone out of it. "It really would be dangerous now," said Grace. "She would be certain to hear of it and make it worse for all of us." "Why not burn her," put in Nora, who was afraid of nothing and had often looked at the scolding teacher with such cold, laughing eyes, that even Miss Leece was disconcerted. "Good!" cried several of the others. "We will take her down below the bridge and burn her as a witch." No one objected to this, since the ashes of the effigy would tell no tales. Once more they started singing: "Merrily we roll along!" as they marched out of the village, crossed the bridge over the little river and finally paused on the bank below. "Plant the pole in deep," said David, "so she won't topple, and fix her up to suit yourselves, girls, while we get the fagots." The boys began to search about for dried sticks and twigs, while the girls were arranging the figure for her funeral pyre. Suddenly, there was a wild war whoop. A crowd of boys dashed out of a thicket near by, each one carrying a lighted Jack-o'-lantern on top of a pole, and surrounded the effigy of the teacher. "Help!" cried the girls, trying to defend the absurd thing from the attack, but they were too late. One of the boys seized the pole and rushed off in the darkness. Miss Leece, in effigy, had been kidnapped in an instant, before David and his friends had had time to realize what had happened. "Which way did they go?" he asked breathlessly. "Through the thicket," cried Grace. And the whole crowd dashed after the kidnappers. It was great fun for everybody except Anne, who was too tired to keep up the chase for long, and was soon lagging behind the others. David saw her and turned back. "You are too little for all this junketing, Anne," he said kindly. "Suppose I take you home? Shall I?" "I wish you would, David," answered the girl. "I'm just about ready to drop, I'm so tired." Taking her arm, he helped her over the ruts and rough places, until they finally emerged from the wood and started on the road to town. There were many other Hallowe'en parties out that night; singing and laughing was heard in every direction. "It's like a play," said Anne, "only everything is behind the scenes. Don't think I haven't enjoyed it, David, just because I got tired. I never played with boys and girls of my own age before. What fun it is!" "Isn't it?" replied the young man, "I love to get out, once in a while, and have a good time like this. I find I can work all the better after it's over." Presently the others caught up with them, breathless and laughing. "Miss Leece is stolen," cried Grace, "before ever she was hanged or burned. I do wonder what they'll do with her." "Oh, leave her in the woods," responded Reddy, "to scare the birds away." "Good night, Anne," continued Grace. "David will take you home. We go this way. Don't be frightened about to-morrow. I doubt if she says anything; and if she does, we are all implicated." The young people separated, still singing and laughing; never dreaming of the storm brewing from their evening's prank. "Anne," pursued David, as they strolled down River Street together, "when I make my flying machine will you be afraid to take a sail with me?" "Never," replied Anne, "but I wish it had been made in time to carry me away from Miss Leece to-morrow morning." And Anne's words had more meaning than either of them realized at the time. Imagine the surprise and horror of the Hallowe'en party when, next morning, they discovered the effigy of Miss Leece planted right in front of the Girls' High School! And the teacher herself was the first to see the impious outrage. <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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