For months, Mrs. Pitzel had been nagging her husband to go with her to the seance parlor of Madame Freda.

"Milton, she's a real gypsy, and she brings the voices of the dead into our world. We all talk to them!   Last week, I spoke with my mother, may she rest in peace. Milton, for twenty dollars you can talk to your Zayde  who you misses so much!"

 Milton Pitzel could not resist. At the very next seance at Madam Freda's Seance Parlor, Milton sat under the colored light at the green table, holding hands with the person on each side. They were all humming, "Oooom, oooom, tonka tooom.

"Madame Freda, her eyes lost in a trance, was making passes over a crystal ball.

"My medium... Vashtri," she called. "Come in. Who is that with you? Who?
Mr. Pitzel? Milton Pitzel's Zayde?"

Milton swallowed the lump in his throat and called, "Grandpa? Zayde?"

"Ah, Milteleh?" a thin voice quavered.

"Yes! Yes!" cried Milton. "This is your Milton! Grandfather, are you happy in the other world?"

"Milteleh, I am in bliss. I am with your Bubbie, we laugh, we sing. We gaze upon the shining face of the Lord!"

 Milton asked his Zayde a dozen more questions, and his Zayde answered each one until Zayde said, "So now, Milteleh, I have to go. The angels are calling. I can answer only one more question. Ask. Ask."

"Zayde," sighed Milton, "When did you learn to speak English?"
 
—Forwarded by Myles Anderberg, Port St. Lucie, Fla