an, with deep conviction. "I don't claim
to be a specialist, but when a man and a poet are entered for the
matrimonial handicap, I'll put my money on the man, every time."

Dick swiftly changed the subject, and began to speculate on probable
happenings at the sanitarium. They left the conveyance in the village,
from whence it had been taken, and walked uphill.

Lights gleamed from every window of the Jack-o'-Lantern, but the eccentric
face of the house had, for the first time, a friendly aspect. Warmth and
cheer were in the blinking eyes and the grinning mouth, though, as Dick
said, it seemed impossible that "no pumpkin seeds were left inside."

Those who do not believe in personal influence should go into a house
which uninvited and undesired guests have regretfully left. Every alien
element had gone from the house on the hill, yet the very walls were still
vocal with discord. One expected, every moment, to hear Uncle Israel's
wheeze, the shrill, spiteful comment of Mrs. Holmes, or a howl from one of
the twins.

"What shall we do," asked Harlan, "to celebrate the day of emancipation?"

"I know," answered Dorothy, with a little laugh. "We'll burn a bed."

"Whose bed?" queried Dick.

"Mr. Perkins's bed," responded Elaine, readily. The tone of her voice sent
a warm glow to Dick's heart, and he went to work at the heavy walnut
structure with more gladness than exercise of that particular kind had
ever given him before.

Harlan rummaged through the cellar and found a bottle of Uncle Ebeneezer's
old port, which, for some occult reason, had hitherto escaped. Mrs.
Smithers, moved to joyful song, did herself proud in the matter of fried
chicken and flaky biscuit. Dorothy had taken all the leaves out of the
table, so that now it was cosily set for four, and placed a battered old
brass candlestick, with a tallow candle in it, in the centre.

"Seems like living, doesn't it?" asked Harlan. Until now, he had not known
how surely though secretly distressed he had been by Aunt Rebecca's
persistent kin. Claudius Tiberius apparently felt the prevailing
cheerfulness, and purred vigorously, in Elaine's lap.

Afterward, they made a fire in the parlour, even though the night was so
warm that they were obliged to have all the windows open, and, inspired by
the portrait of Uncle Ebeneezer, discussed the peculiarities of his
self-invited guests.

The sacrificial flame arising from the poet's bed directed the
conversation to Mr. Per