Avon Fantasy Reader No. 13 — page 103: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

I made some friendly answer to the old couple; then Mary said, “This is Lonny . . . remember his picture?” | The handsome young man whose photograph I remembered stepped for- ward, grinning engagingly. | “So this is Liz!” he said. “Always wanted to meet one girl who isn’t afraid of a mouse . . . remember? Mary told us about the time you put one in the prof’s desk.” He too spoke in that near-whisper that went oddly with his cheery words, and I found myself unconsciously lowering my voice to match theirs. They were unusually quiet for such a merry friendly group, : and I was especially puzzled at Mary’s hushed voice and manner—she had 4 always been a boisterous tomboy sort of person. . a “This is Betty,” Mary spoke again, a strange glow lighting her face. A small girl about twelve stepped solemnly from the shadows and gave me a grave old-fashioned curtsey. ee “And Bill,” said Mary, as a chubby child peeped out at me from behind his sister’s dress and broke into a soft gurgling laugh. “What darling kids!” I burst out. , q __ The baby toddled out from behind Betty and stood looking at me with 4 big blue eyes, head on one side. I stepped forward to pat the curly head, but _ __ as I put out a hand to touch him, he seemed to draw away easily just out of reach. I could not feel rebuffed, however, with his bright eyes telling me plainly that I was liked. It was just a baby’s natural shyness with strangers, I told myself, and made no other attempt to catch him. After a moment’s conversation, during which my liking for this charming. family grew, Mary asked if I should like to go to my room and freshen up a bit before dinner. As I followed her up the stairs, it struck me forcibly— as it had before only vaguely—that this family, with the exception of Mary, were in very bad health. From father to baby, they were most pasty-white of complexion—not sallow, I mused, but a sort of ‘translucent white like the glazed-glass doors of private offices. I attributed it to the uncertain light of the candles that they looked rather smoky, like figures in a movie when the film has become old and faded. “Dinner at six,” Mary told me, smiling, and left me to remove the travel- stains. : | I came downstairs a little before the dinner hour, to find the hall de- serted—and, woman-like, I stopped to parade before a large cheval-glass in the wall. It was a huge mirror, reflecting the whole hall behind me, mellowly illumined in the glow of the candles. Turning about for a back-view of my- self, I saw the little baby, Bill, standing just beside me, big eyes twinkling merrily. : “Hello there, old fellow,” I smiled at him. “Do I look all right?” I glanced E back at the mirror . . . and what it reflected gave mea shock. _ | q I could see myself clearly in the big glass, and most of the hall far behind __me, stretching back into the shadows. But the baby was not reflected in the glass at ail! I moved, with a little chill, just behind him . . . and I could see | my own reflection clearly, but it was as if he was simply not there. At that moment Mary called us to dinner, and I promptly forgot the dis- . 101 ‘a 7 ? — Comichooks.com