e furniture van! And I've named him Lopsy!" "Why, Flame; how--absurd!" gasped her mother. In consideration of the fact that Flame's mother had run all the way from the icy-footed chicken yard to answer the telephone it shows distinctly what stuff she was made of that she gasped nothing else. And that Flame herself re-telephoned within the half hour to acknowledge her absurdity shows equally distinctly what stuff _she_ was made of! It was from the summit of a crate of holly-wreaths that she telephoned this time. "Oh Mother-Funny," apologized Flame, "you were perfectly right. No lone dog in the world could possibly manage a great spooky place like the Rattle-Pane House. There are two other dogs with him! A great long, narrow sofa-shaped dog upholstered in lemon and white,--something terribly ferocious like 'Russian Wolf Hound' I think he is! But I've named him Beautiful-Lovely! And there's the neatest looking paper--

white coach dog just perfectly ruined with ink-spots! Blunder-Blot, I think, will make a good name for him! And--" "Oh--Fl--ame!" panted her Mother. "Dogs--do--not--take houses!" It was not from the chicken-yard that she had come running this time but only from her Husband's Sermon-Writing-Room in the attic. "Oh don't they though?" gloated Flame. "Well, they've taken this one, anyway! Taken it by storm, I mean! Scratched all the green paint off the front door! Torn a hole big as a cavern in the Barberry Hedge! Pushed the sun-dial through a bulkhead!--If it snows to-night the cellar'll be a Glacier! And--" "Dogs--do--not--take--houses," persisted Flame's mother. She was still persisting it indeed when she returned to her husband's study. Her husband, it seemed, had not noticed her absence. Still poring over the tomes and commentaries incidental to the preparation of his next Sunday's sermon his fine face glowed ha-

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