urteous and lady-like demeanor. I had an
appointment, of course, and she directed me to sit at a table opposite
herself. I did so, and for quite a time nothing happened.

"Then--she was not exactly in a trance, I should say, but rather she
seemed absorbed in deep thought--she said, 'I see a man, a fair-haired
man with a sunny, boyish smile. Do you recognize that description?' I
didn't say much, for I'm no fool to give myself away, you understand,
but I nodded assent, and she went on: 'He seems very active, full of
life and energy, and of a loving, affectionate nature.' You may guess
how I felt when she described Peter so exactly! I wanted to exclaim,
'Yes, that's my boy!' but I'm always careful not to help in any way. So
I just nodded, and she went on. 'He passed away about two or three
months ago, and he seems willing to communicate with me. What shall I
ask him?'

"Now, I'm canny, you know, and I said, 'Make sure of his identity first.
Ask him what name we used to call him by?' And, will you believe it?
after a short pause, she said, 'Peter Boots!' She seemed surprised
herself at such a name. I thought I ought to tell her how true that was,
so I did. She looked pleased to think it was all right, and waited for
me to ask another question. So I said, 'Ask him how he died.' She did,
and he told her he was frozen to death in a fearful snowstorm. Think of
that! And I said, 'Ask him how it happened.' And she did, and Peter said
he couldn't exactly say--he lost consciousness, and he knew nothing more
until he found himself on the other side. He said for me not to grieve,
for he should carry on over there all he had attempted to do here. He
said he retained all his ambition and energy and hope--you know he was
blessed abundantly with those traits--and----"

"Did he say he was happy?" asked Mrs. Crane, eagerly.

"He said he was content, and though it was all a little strange as yet,
he was becoming accustomed to that life and did not wish to return."

"Did he send any message to me?" urged the anxious mother.

"I'm coming to that, dear. Yes, he said for you not to grieve for him,
but to think of him as busy and happy and entirely contented. Oh, Helen,
isn't it wonderful? I arranged for another _seance_, and you shall go
with me. She held out a hope of materialization later, but she wasn't
sure she could compass that for some time to come. You needn't look
skeptical, Thorpe; that expression on your face only proves your
i