t our house. I've witnessed some
wonderful manifestations in that front parlor." She turned to Winthrop
and smiled. "So, you see," she exclaimed, "I was born and brought up
in this business. I am the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter. My
grandmother was a medium, my mother was a medium--she worked with
the Fox sisters before they were exposed. But, my aunt," she added
thoughtfully, judicially, "was the greatest medium I have ever seen. She
did certain things I couldn't understand, and I know every trick in the
trade--unless," she explained, "you believe the spirits helped her."

Winthrop was observing the girl intently, with a new interest.

"And you don't believe that?" he asked, quietly.

"How can I?" Vera said. "I was brought up with them." She shook her head
and smiled. "I used to play around the kitchen stove with Pocahontas and
Alexander the Great, and Martin Luther lived in our china closet. You
see, the neighbors wouldn't let their children come to our house; so,
the only playmates I had were--ghosts." She laughed wistfully. "My!" she
exclaimed, "I was a queer, lonely little rat. I used to hear voices and
see visions. I do still," she added. With her elbows on the arms of
her chair, she clasped her hands under her chin and leaned forward. She
turned her eyes to Winthrop and nodded confidentially.

"Do you know," she said, "sometimes I think people from the other world
do speak to me."

"But you said," Winthrop objected, "you didn't believe."

"I know," returned Vera. "I can't!" Her voice was perplexed, impatient.
"Why, I can sit in this chair," she declared earnestly, "and fill this
room with spirit voices and rappings, and you sitting right there can't
see how I do it. And yet, in spite of all the tricks, sometimes I believe
there's something in it."

She looked at Winthrop, her eyes open with inquiry. He shook his head.

"Yes," insisted the girl. "When these women come to me for advice, I
don't invent what I say to them. It's as though something told me what
to say. I have never met them before, but as soon as I pass into the
trance state I seem to know all their troubles. And I seem to be half
in this world and half in another world--carrying messages between them.
Maybe," her voice had sunk to almost a whisper; she continued as though
speaking to herself, "I only think that. I don't know. I wonder."

There was a long pause.

"I wish," began Winthrop earnestly, "I wish you were younger, or I we