“Ah, here he comes! Here’s the Bad Penny, who always turns up when he’s wanted!” Hal was just entering the room, his first appearance except in his disguise as “Fate.” He had removed the uncomfortable wig and whiskers, but still wore the gorgeous costume. The smile with which Betty greeted him quite took away the sting of being called a Bad Penny, and he said gaily: “A Lucky Penny, rather, to be chosen by such a merry witch!” So the girls were foiled in their little plot, and Lena, accepting her defeat good-naturedly, declared she had to choose both the remaining knights, and taking an arm of each, she followed the procession to the dining-room. The feast was abundant and the guests very merry. More fortune-testing was provided in the mottoes and snapdragon, and at last the “fortune-cake” was cut. This great confection was almost like a bride-cake, save that its frosting was red and chocolate instead of white. It was decorated with tiny witches and black cats, which were, of course, confectionery, and candles were burning all round it. In it had been baked a thimble, signifying spinsterhood; a gold ring, betokening matrimony; a penny, meaning wealth; a gold pen for literary fame; a button for a bachelor; and many other tiny emblems of fortune, which were arranged only one to a slice. By dint of clever manœuvering Lena arranged that Betty should get the slice with the penny in it, and this caused a shout of laughter at Betty’s expense. But she didn’t mind, and only glanced merrily at Hal, as she said: “We seem to be irrevocably fated, don’t we?” “I’m satisfied to have it so,” he replied gallantly, making a gesture like a real stage suitor; and Betty returned saucily: “So am I—during supper-time!” After supper they assembled in the “black room” for a fagot party. The screen was removed from the blazing wood fire, and all sat on the floor, or on cushions or ottomans clustered round the big fireplace. Each was given a “fagot,” a bundle of tiny sticks tied together with red and black ribbons, and each, in turn, threw the fagot into the fire. While the fagot burned, the thrower was to tell a ghost story, which must stop as soon as the sticks were entirely consumed. This was a most exasperating performance, for in nearly every instance, just as the thrilling climax of the story was nearly reached, the sticks burned out, and the narrator was not allowed to proceed. Hal Pennington’s was one of the most interesting. “Mine is a fearful tale,” he said, as he threw his fagot on the fire, “and I will tell it rapidly that you may all hear the marvelous and almost incredible _dénouement_.” The others crowded closer to hear, for Hal spoke in low, mysterious tones.