What can we do, mothah ?" "Let's tell ghost stories," said Mrs.Sherman, who knew what was going to happen in a short time, and wanted to keep the girls occupied until then.

"I know a fine one," she began, sinking her voice to a creepy undertone that made the girls cast uneasy glances behind them.

"It's all about a haunted house that has clanking chains in the cellar, and muffled footsteps, and icy fingers that c-lutch you by the throat on the stairs as the clock tolls the midnight hour." "Ugh! How good and spooky!" said Joyce, with a little shiver.

"I love that kind." They drew their chairs around Mrs.Sherman to listen, so interested in the story that two of the Bobs rolled over each other and off the high porch, and nobody noticed their whining.

Presently, in the most thrilling part of her story, Mrs.Sherman paused and pointed impressively down the avenue.
"Oo-oo-oo! what is it?
Ghosts ?" shrieked the Little Colonel, her teeth chattering, and in such haste to throw herself into her mother's arms that her chair turned over with a bang.
"It is a pillow-case party," answered Mrs.Sherman, laughing, "but it is certainly the most ghostly-looking affair that I ever saw." Down the long avenue toward them came a wavering line of white-sheeted, masked figures.