Patch. Now we'll see how that match is going to turn out."

Margaret laughed good naturedly with the rest and they watched this pair
as well as the others.

"Roger and I had a squabble yesterday," admitted Ethel Brown. "Here is
Roger and here is Ethel Brown. Let's see how we are going to get on in
the future."

"Where is Roger really?" some one asked, but at that instant Ethel
Blue's nut and Della's caught fire and burned steadily side by side
without any demonstrations, and every one looking on was so absorbed in
translating the meaning of the blaze that no one pursued the question.

That is, not until a shriek from the Witches' Cave rang through the
house and sent them all flying to see who was in trouble. Dorothy was
found coming out of the dining room, mirror in hand, and a strange tale
on her lips.

"If there's any truth in this Hallowe'en prophecy," she said with
trembling voice, "my future husband will be worse than Margaret's
cabbage man. The face that looked over my shoulder was exactly like a
jack-o'-lantern's."

"It was? Where's Roger?" Dr. Watkins demanded instantly, while James
hobbled to the front door and announced that the jack had disappeared
from the front porch.

"Did any one ask for Roger?" demanded a cool voice, and Roger was seen
coming down stairs.

"Yes, sir, numerous people asked for Roger. How did you do it?"

"Do what? Has anything happened in my absence?"

"Not a thing has happened in your _absence_. Just tell us how you
managed it."

"I know," guessed Helen. "He went outside and took the jack from the
porch and carried it through the kitchen, into the dining room where it
smiled over Dorothy's shoulder, and then he went into the kitchen again
and up the back stairs. Wasn't that it, Roger?"

"Young woman, you are wiser than your years," was all that Roger would
say.

While they were teasing him a shouting in the garden sent them all to
the back windows and doors. In the dim light of the young moon two
figures were seen wrestling. It was evidently a good natured struggle,
for peals of laughter fell on the ears of the listeners. When one of
them dragged the other toward the house the figures proved to be Tom
Watkins and George Foster.

"I was measuring the barley stack," explained Tom breathlessly, "and
just as I made the third round and was eagerly expecting my future bride
to rush into my arms, something did rush into my arms, but I'll leave it
to the opinion of the meetin