While Blanche was lamenting over the fact that the three candles which stood for the summer months had been extinguished, which she interpreted to mean that she was to be disappointed in certain cherished vacation plans, Amy came forward to try her fate. Clutching her skirts frantically, she jumped over the first candle, coming down with a thump which fairly shook the house, while the cheery little flame which stood for November blinked in astonishment and promptly went out. Ten times did Amy repeat this feat. When she reached the end of the hall only one of the twelve candles remained lighted, and the girls were in peals of laughter. "’’Tis the last rose of summer left blooming alone,’" Peggy quoted tragically, but Amy was in no mood to see the humor of the situation. "Did you ever hear of anything so dreadful?" she moaned. "What a year! Only one lucky month in it." The girls laughed again at her horrified tone, and Peggy crossed the room and shook her playfully. "You’re actually pale, you ridiculous, superstitious creature," she said severely. "As if it wasn’t all a joke. I guess we’ll have some refreshments now to revive you." The refreshments were of the simplest sort; nuts and apples, with plates of home-made candy, but they added vastly to the evening’s entertainment. The chestnuts were placed in pairs on the coals of the grate fire, and when they bounded apart, as the most of them did, great excitement developed in the little company. From the English walnuts, tiny vessels were constructed and launched in couples on the troubled waters of the tub. If the little craft stuck together in their voyage across, the omen was counted a good one, while their parting company was hailed with lamentation. All this gaiety had taken time. The hands of the clock were pointing to half past eleven. "The question is," said Peggy solemnly, "who’s to be the one to go down the cellar-stairs." Several of the girls shuddered, but no one volunteered. "It won’t be me," cried Amy, excitement rendering her defiant of grammar. "I wouldn’t do it for the world; would you?" she added, finding Elaine’s eyes fixed on her curiously. "Do what? I don’t understand." "Why, just as the clock is striking twelve, you go down the cellar-stairs, with a candle in one hand and a mirror in the other." "You go down backward," Ruth reminded her. "O, yes. You must walk backward. And when you get to the bottom of the stairs you set the mirror down somewhere and the candle in front of it, and begin to eat an apple." Apparently the solemnity of the proceeding was failing to make due impression on Elaine. Amy’s voice became thrillingly mysterious. "You must look and look into the mirror as hard as you can, all the time that you’re eating the apple. And, before you’ve finished, a face will be looking over your shoulder. O my!" Amy indulged in a prolonged shiver. "I wouldn’t do it for worlds," she repeated.