ectant circle. But nothing
happened. The minutes ticked away, and Planchette remained motionless.

"Be patient," Mrs. Grantly counselled. "Do not struggle against any
influences you may feel working on you. But do not do anything yourself.
The influence will take care of that. You will feel impelled to do
things, and such impulses will be practically irresistible."

"I wish the influence would hurry up," Aunt Mildred protested at the end
of five motionless minutes.

"Just a little longer, Mrs. Story, just a little longer," Mrs. Grantly
said soothingly.

Suddenly Aunt Mildred's hand began to twitch into movement. A mild
concern showed in her face as she observed the movement of her hand and
heard the scratching of the pencil-point at the apex of Planchette.

For another five minutes this continued, when Aunt Mildred withdrew her
hand with an effort, and said, with a nervous laugh:

"I don't know whether I did it myself or not. I do know that I was
growing nervous, standing there like a psychic fool with all your solemn
faces turned upon me."

"Hen-scratches," was Uncle Robert's judgement, when he looked over the
paper upon which she had scrawled.

"Quite illegible," was Mrs. Grantly's dictum. "It does not resemble
writing at all. The influences have not got to working yet. Do you try
it, Mr. Barton."

That gentleman stepped forward, ponderously willing to please, and
placed his hand on the board. And for ten solid, stolid minutes he stood
there, motionless, like a statue, the frozen personification of the
commercial age. Uncle Robert's face began to work. He blinked, stiffened
his mouth, uttered suppressed, throaty sounds, deep down; finally he
snorted, lost his self-control, and broke out in a roar of laughter.
All joined in this merriment, including Mrs. Grantly. Mr. Barton laughed
with them, but he was vaguely nettled.

"You try it, Story," he said.

Uncle Robert, still laughing, and urged on by Lute and his wife, took
the board. Suddenly his face sobered. His hand had begun to move, and
the pencil could be heard scratching across the paper.

"By George!" he muttered. "That's curious. Look at it. I'm not doing it.
I know I'm not doing it. Look at that hand go! Just look at it!"

"Now, Robert, none of your ridiculousness," his wife warned him.

"I tell you I'm not doing it," he replied indignantly. "The force has
got hold of me. Ask Mrs. Grantly. Tell her to make it stop, if you want
it to stop. I can'