_Such a Pleasant Room_

"It ain't ev'rybody I'd put to sleep in this room," said old Mrs.
Jinks to the fastidious and extremely nervous young minister who was
spending a night at her house.

"This here room is full of sacred associations to me," she went on,
as she bustled around opening shutters and arranging the curtains.
"My first husband died in that bed with his head on these very
pillers, and poor Mr. Jinks died settin' right in that corner.
Sometimes when I come into the room in the dark I think I see him
settin' there still.

"My own father died layin' right on that lounge under the winder.
Poor Pa! He was a Speeritualist, and he allus said he'd appear in
this room after he died, and sometimes I'm foolish enough to look for
him. If you should see anything of him tonight you'd better not tell
me; for it'd be a sign to me that there was something in
Speeritualism, and I'd hate to think that.

"My son by my first man fell dead of heart-disease right where you
stand. He was a doctor, and there's two whole skeletons in that
closet that belonged to him, and half a dozen skulls in that lower
drawer.

"There, I guess things'll do now----

"Well, good-night, and pleasant dreams."