eking to communicate was not Miss Tidditt, but
another, a relative so long gone that Tamson had forgotten she ever
existed. At length she was brought to the point of admitting that
it seemed as if she had heard of a cousin of her grandmother's named
Florabel or Annabel or something. The message was not very coherent nor
particularly interesting, so the incident ended.

A short time later came the sensation which was to make the evening
memorable in East Wellmouth's spiritualistic circles. Little Cherry
Blossom called the name which many had expected and some, Lulie Hallett
and Martha Phipps in particular, dreaded to hear.

"Jethro!" croaked the Blossom. "Jethro!"

Captain Hallett had been very quiet, particularly since the Florabel
message was tangled in transit. Martha could see his shaggy head in
silhouette against the dim light of the lamp and had noticed that that
head scarcely moved. The light keeper seemed to be watching the medium
very intently. Now he spoke.

"Yes?" he said, as if awakened from sleep. "Yes, here I am. What is it?"

"Jethro," cried the control once more. "Jethro, somebodee come speakee
to you.... Julia! Julia!"

Captain Jethro rose from his chair. The loved name had as always an
instant effect. His heavy voice shook as he answered.

"Yes, yes, Julia," he cried. "Here I am, Julia, waitin'--waitin'."

It was pathetic, pitiful. One listener in that circle felt, in spite of
his own misery, a pang of remorse and a little dread. After all, perhaps
it would have been better to--

"Julia," cried the light keeper. "Speak to me. I'm waitin'."

The foghorn boomed just here, but even after the sound had subdued
Little Cherry Blossom seemed to find it difficult to proceed. She--or
the medium--choked, swallowed, and then said:

"Julia got message. Yes, indeedee. Important message, she sayee, for
Jethro. Jethro must do what she sayee."

The captain's big head nodded vigorously. Martha could see it move, a
tousled shadow against the light.

"Yes, yes, Julia, of course," he said. "I always do what you say. You
know I do. Go on."

"Father!" It was Lulie's voice, raised in anxious protest. "Father,
please."

Her father sharply ordered her to be quiet.

"Go on, Julia," he persisted. "Tell me what you want me to do."

Again Little Cherry Blossom seemed to have difficulty in articulating.
There was a quaver in her voice when she did speak.

"Julia say," she faltered; "Julia sayee 'Jethro, you sel