The clock struck ten and the fire died down. A candle flickered in its socket, then went out. The chill Autumn mist was rising, and through it the new moon gleamed faintly, like veiled pearl. "I wonder," said Harlan, "where the rest of the audience is? If everybody who reads the book is going to disappear suddenly and mysteriously, I won't be the popular author that I pine to be." "Hush," responded Dorothy; "I think they are coming now. I'll go and let them in." Only a single candle was burning in the hall, and when Dorothy opened the door, it went out suddenly, but in that brief instant, she had seen their glorified faces and understood it all. The library door was open, and the dimly lighted room seemed like a haven of refuge to Elaine, radiantly self-conscious, and blushing with sweet shame. "Hello," said Dick, awkwardly, with a tremendous effort to appear natural, "we've just been out to get a breath of fresh air." It had taken them two hours, but Dorothy was too wise to say anything. She only laughed--a happy, tender, musical little laugh. Then she impulsively kissed them both, pushed Elaine gently into the library, and went back into the parlour to tell Harlan. THE END End of Project Gutenberg's At the Sign of the Jack O'Lantern, by Myrtle Reed