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A Hallowe'en Adventure

(By Aroha Bruce)

A Short Story for Children.

If Michael had not fallen asleep under the old gum tree, late one October afternoon, this story would not have been written.

“Take the dogs and go down to the far paddock, and bring the cows home,” his father had said. And calling Frisk and old Ben, Michael set off, the two dogs racing ahead.

Although the afternoon was advanced the sun was still hot, and by the time Michael reached the far paddock he felt very tired, and he threw himself down to rest in the shade of the old gum tree that grew by itself in the paddock.

“It really won't matter if the milking is five minutes late,” thought Michael, as he lay on his back gazing up at the sky.

Presently he fell asleep; how long he slept Michael did not know, but he woke with a start to hear voices close by.

“Don't forget to-night, at twelve in the old barn,” said the first voice.

“You bet your tail, I won't” said the second.

Michael sat up and looked around him; there was no one in sight—only the two dogs by his side.

Could he have made a mistake; surely they would have barked if anyone had been near? Then Michael remembered his neglected task, and jumping up he set off to where the cattle stood grazing in the corner of the paddock. What he did not notice was that as he got up he stepped out of a large ring of toadstools that grew at the foot of the tree.

Now, everyone knows that if one falls asleep in a ring of toadstools on the last day of October, something queer is bound to happen!

But Michael had forgotten the date, and it was not until later that evening when he was having his tea, that his father happened to catch sight of the calender on the kitchen wall.

“To-day is the last of October,” he said.

“Yes,” said his mother, “and to-night is the evening of Hallowe'en.”

“Tell me about it,” begged Michael.

“Well, it's the most magic night of the year,” she said, “and the Scottish folk say that on this night the witches ride down to earth on their broom sticks to feast with the gnomes; and the animals all have speech, and dance in the meadows.”

Michael's eyes grew round with interest.

“When I was a little girl,” she continued, “my brothers used to get pumpkins and hollow them out, cutting eyes and a nose, and a mouth in each one, and when it was dark place a candle inside.”

“Fiddlesticks!” growled father.

“Children don't believe in such nonsense nowadays; and what is more, if I find any little boy monkeying round with my pumpkins, there will be trouble!”—This with a meaning glance at Michael.

Mother just smiled, but said nothing more, and shortly after tea Michael was sent off to bed.

He lay for a long time alone in the dark—thinking—could it really be true what mother had said?

Then it must have been Ben and Frisk he heard talking. “Twelve o'clock in the old barn,” Ben had said.

“What could it all mean?”

Michael meant to find out.

Slipping out of bed he crossed to the open window, and stood looking out into the darkness. Away in the village a clock started chiming.

The gravel made crunchy noises under his feet, and Michael ran very fast—outside in the dark he felt a little afraid. No small boy likes the thought of meeting a witch on a broomstick riding out of the sky. In the old barn it would be quite safe, he thought.

Rounding the end of the house Michael stood still in astonishment!

A light shone from the barn, and the door was wide open, and father's prize pig was just trotting inside. Close on his heels walked two of the cows, followed by Billy the goat, then the door closed to with a click: Michael ran over to the door, opening it just enough to allow himself to slip inside, and hid behind a pile of old sacks. There he could see, without being seen, and what he saw made him gasp with surprise. The barn was lit by five orange pumpkins, each made in the form of a lantern, with eyes, and a nose, and a mouth that gave out a queer yellow light, while seated on top of each was a huge black cat, with glowing green eyes, and a stiffly arched back, and standing-up tail.

Gathered together in the barn were all the four-footed folk of the farm; the cows and the pigs, and the dogs and the sheep, all talking and laughing together, and making a terrible din, and, in a far corner, a witch's black cauldron was bubbling and sending up steam. Stirring the cauldron and chanting strange words was a wizard, wearing a blue velvet robe all spangled with stars, and his white, flowing beard reached right to the ground. Presently he stopped chanting, and bending down, made a sign on the floor with his short magic wand; and before you could wink there sprang up a table all laden with Hallowe'en food.

There were cheese cakes, and haggis, and porridge, and pasties, and roastnuts, and rosy red apples, not to mention a huge dish of white mashed potatoes, stuffed full of small lucky charms.

Just then there came a rush of cold air, and in through the window came flying a dozen old witches riding their broomsticks, followed by a crowd of brown bats, with wicked red eyes. The witches flew twice round the cauldron, then coming to rest on the ground, piled their brooms in one corner. Then the feasting began, each animal helping himself, and everyone eating too much.

After that the dancing began; they froliced and pranced, the cows with the pigs, and the sheep and the calves; old Ben and Frisk dancing together. And then there were games of ducking for apples floating in buckets of water. And when one of the pigs was having his turn, and the apple kept bobbing away from his nose (for only the teeth could be used), Billy the goat came up from behind and butted him into the water.

He soon scrambled out, none the worse for his bath, and set off in chase of the goat.

Now, unfortunately, Billy decided to hide behind the old sacks by the door, and thus he discovered poor Michael. Seizing him by his pyjama coat sleeve he dragged frightened Michael into the middle of the floor.

Everyone stood still with surprise.

Then one of the witches rushed forward and shaking her long bony hand in his face demanded in a shrill voice,

“What are you doing here, brat?”

“Please, I just came to look,” gasped Michael.

“Look, indeed!” growled the old woman.

“Spying, I call it. I'm in a good mind to turn you into cobweb and sweep you up to the moon.”

“Not so fast, old witch,” said the wizard, who had a kind face.

And addressing Michael, “Are you kind to all animals, my son; give them water to drink, never tease or neglect them?”

“Oh, yes,” cried Michael, “I love them too much to treat them unkindly.”

“That is true,” said Frisk and old Ben together.

“Well, if that is the case,” continued the wizard, “we will give you a pardon, and just turn you into a little brown mouse till the dawn, and send you back to your bed.”

And he waved his wand and Michael found himself getting smaller and smaller—and there he was a little brown mouse!

He ran out of the barn and across the garden, and in two minutes was through the window, and scampering up the bedclothes, where he hid himself under the pillow.

He must have fallen asleep; for when he woke up it was day, and the sun was streaming in at the window, and once more he was a boy.

Michael decided to say nothing about his midnight adventure, for sometimes the grown-ups don't quite understand.