ost a dollar and a half and was by a celebrated
violinist--was fixed, and a halftone semi-permanent needle selected.
Lizzie was to start this after the first storm of knocking, or any
preliminary jocularity of Stepan's, had subsided.

Jannie had on new pink silk stockings and white kid slippers. Her head
had been marcelled special, and she was so nervous that she tore three
hair-nets. At this she wept, and stamped her foot, breaking a bottle of
expensive scent.

When Mrs. Kraemer's motor stopped at the door, Lizzie went forward, and
Mrs. Meeker floated down the stairs.

Stopping him sharply, I demanded a repetition of the latter phrase. It
was Lizzie's. McGeorge, too, had expressed surprise, and the girl
repeated it. Mrs. Meeker, she declared, often "floated." One evening she
had seen Mrs. Meeker leave the top story by a window and stay suspended
over the bricks twenty feet below.

Mrs. Kraemer entered the small hall like a keen rush of wind; her manner
was determined, an impatience half checked by interest in what might
follow. She listened with a short nod to Mr. Meeker's dissertation on
the necessity of concord in all the assembled wills. The spirit world
must be approached reverently, with trust and thankfulness for whatever
might be vouchsafed.

The light in the front room, a single gas-burner, was lowered, and
covered by the inevitable red-paper hood, and the circle formed. Lizzie
was washing dishes, but the kitchen door was open, so that she could
hear the knocks that were the signal for the music. They were even
longer coming than on the night before, and she made up her mind that
Stepan had declared a holiday from the responsibilities of a control. At
last there was a faint vibration, and she went cautiously into the dark
space behind the circle. The curtains had always hung improperly, and
she could see a dim red streak of light.

The knocks at best were not loud; several times when she was about to
start the record they began again inconclusively. Stepan finally
communicated that he was exhausted. Some one was being cruel to him.
Could it be Jannie? There was a sobbing gasp from the latter. Mrs.
Kraemer's voice was like ice-water; she wanted some word from August,
her son. She followed the name with the designation of his rank and
regiment. And proud of it, too, Lizzie added; you might have taken from
her manner that she was one of us. Her version of Mrs. Kraemer's
description sounded as though August