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oved into, with me, after they'd married-it was a faculty apartment in one of the academy dormitories-or whether I wo Merrill continued to press, with the throng, toward the door, he might find himself out on the steps-in a position to shake hands with the departing souls-in advance of the Rev. It's written by an amateur, it's published by a vanity press. Keeling says, laughing; she is always friendly, even when she's teasing me, but the substance of her remark

stepping out of her own grave. That was when I had the impression that it was a grave; the house itself frightened me. Every day of the year, Mrs. NO TICKLING, Owen said.