announced the beginning of the service. When the double stroke had been given for a last warning, the silence was about me once more. Suddenly the troubled cry of a sheep from the back pasture broke out on the night, a plaintive bleat as if a dog or some prowling beast of prey had been scented. Then, through an open window in the next house, I heard the voice of a girl as it read something, followed by a deeper voice which said, “Oh, yum, I’ve been dozing, Grace!” That was followed by a hand which drew apart the curtains, and soon two girls’ heads were outlined against the golden glow in the room, and one remarked, “Oh, what a stupid night!” I hurriedly dodged my head into the room, drew down the window shade and lighted the flaring, hissing blaze of gas. The whole room was cheapened when the powerful gas light shone on it. The crowded space, filled with the tawdry effects of my roommate and myself: the rack of dusty photographs of people I had never seen, the stuffed chair, the bed quilt, the water bucket; all those things oppressed me. I turned off the light and threw myself on the bed determined not to undress till Thropper’s return. I felt the need of Thropper. It seemed to me that he would cheer me, hearten me, be a companion. I began to speculate about Thropper in a dreamy sort of way. Overhead, some one began to walk back and forth, back and forth, monotonously, humming a tune unknown to me. I listened for the melody hoping to discover that it would be something with which I was familiar, so that I could hum it too. But it was suddenly interrupted by a terrific yawn. Then the man upstairs said, “Oh, Oh-h-h!” and I heard the clatter as a pair of shoes fell on the floor. The man was going to bed. I began to wonder who it was that had been walking and singing and going to bed over my head. I also speculated on the social value of a speaking tube which should connect our rooms. Then a long, long silence, broken at last by a clatter in the hallway and at last Thropper’s cheery voice, “Well, you couldn’t wait to undress, eh, Priddy?” “Oh,” I mumbled, “got back?” “Yes,” he laughed. “Isn’t it time?” “What time is it?” “Nearly ten.” “I must have been asleep, Thropper. The sounds sent me off.” “You were homesick, I’ll bet,” he laughed. “That’s a fine description of it.” “It wouldn’t be surprising, would it?” I asked. “Not a bit,” he said, “but you just wait till you get to know the folks about here, and you’ll get over that.” “Did you have a good service, Thropper?” “Oh, fair,” he replied. “Fair. Miss Ebberds didn’t particularly like the sermon.” “But she enjoyed the walk to and from it,” I laughed. “Well,” he said earnestly, “I know I did.” While he was preparing himself for bed, he said, “When I went out I forgot to tell you about the Scroll. You might have had a good time with it. Have you ever seen one?” “Scroll?” “Yes.” “What is it?”