utin corrected him.
The bogey was better informed. The success of the French in the great
war was predicted.

The family now moved to their town house, and the inquest continued,
though the raps were only heard near the lady. A Dr. Dubinsky vowed
that she made them herself, with her tongue; then, with her pulse.
The doctor assailed, and finally shook the faith of Mr. Akutin, who
was to furnish a report. "He bribed a servant boy to say that his
mistress made the sounds herself, and then pretended that he had
caught her trying to deceive us by throwing things." Finally Mr.
Akutin reported that the whole affair was a hysterical imposition by
Mrs. Shchapoff. Dr. Dubinsky attended her, her health and spirits
improved, and the disturbances ceased. But poor Mr. Shchapoff
received an official warning not to do it again, from the governor of
his province. That way lies Siberia.

"Imagine, then," exclaims Mr. Shchapoff, "our horror, when, on our
return to the country in March, the unknown force at once set to work
again. And now even my wife's presence was not essential. Thus, one
day, I saw with my own eyes a heavy sofa jump off all four legs (three
or four times in fact), and this when my aged mother was lying on it."
The same thing occurred to Nancy Wesley's bed, on which she was
sitting while playing cards in 1717. The picture of a lady of
seventy, sitting tight to a bucking sofa, appeals to the brave.

Then the fire-raising began. A blue spark flew out of a wash-stand,
into Mrs. Shchapoff's bedroom. Luckily she was absent, and her
mother, rushing forward with a water-jug, extinguished a flaming
cotton dress. Bright red globular meteors now danced in the veranda.
Mr. Portnoff next takes up the tale as follows, Mr. Shchapoff having
been absent from home on the occasion described.

"I was sitting playing the guitar. The miller got up to leave, and
was followed by Mrs. Shchapoff. Hardly had she shut the door, when I
heard, as though from far off, a deep drawn wail. The voice seemed
familiar to me. Overcome with an unaccountable horror I rushed to the
door, and there in the passage I saw a literal pillar of fire, in the
middle of which, draped in flame, stood Mrs. Shchapoff. . . . I rushed
to put it out with my hands, but I found it burned them badly, as if
they were sticking to burning pitch. A sort of cracking noise came
from beneath the floor, which also shook and vibrated violently." Mr.
Portnoff and t