were an ewe-lamb. McGeorge,
besotted in superstition, missed this.

Independently determining that the moment for music had come, Lizzie
pressed forward the lever and carefully lowered the lid. The soft
strains of the violin, heard through the drawn curtains, must have
sounded illusively soothing and impressive.

"Stepan," Jannie implored, "tell August's mamma about him, so far away
amid shot and shell."

"Who is my mother?" Stepan replied, with a mystical and borrowed
magnificence.

"August, are you there?" Mrs. Kraemer demanded. "Can you hear me? Are
you well?"

"I'm deaf from the uproar," Stepan said faintly. "Men in a green gas. He
is trying to reach me; something is keeping him back."

"August's alive!" Mrs. Kraemer's exclamation was in German, but Lizzie
understood that she was thanking God.

"Hundreds are passing over," Stepan continued. "I can't hear his voice,
but there are medals. He's gone again in smoke. The other----" The
communication halted abruptly, and in the silence which followed Lizzie
stopped the talking-machine, the record at an end.

It was then that the blaze of light occurred which made her think the
paper shade had caught fire and that the house would burn down. She
dragged back the curtain.

McGeorge refused to meet my interrogation, but sat with his gaze
fastened on his plate of unconsumed gray macaroni. After a little I
asked impatiently what the girl thought she had seen.

After an inattentive silence McGeorge asked me, idiotically I thought,
if I had ever noticed the game, the hares and drawn fish, sometimes
frozen into a clear block of ice and used as an attraction by provision
stores. I had, I admitted, although I could see no connection between
that and the present inquiry.

It was, however, his description of the column of light Lizzie Tuoey saw
over against the mantel, a shining white shroud through which the
crudely painted Rock of Ages was visible, insulated in the glass bell.
Oh, yes, there was a soldier, but in the uniform that might be seen
passing the Meekers any hour of the day, and unnaturally hanging in a
traditional and very highly sanctified manner. The room was filled with
a coldness that made Lizzie's flesh crawl. It was as bright as noon; the
circle about the table was rigid, as if it had been frozen into
immobility, while Jannie's breathing was audible and hoarse.

Mrs. Kraemer stood wrung with horror, a shaking hand sparkling with
diamonds raised to her