eaning, doubtless, to
include immortals. A chair was provided, again the lights were dimmed,
and the seance resumed, punctuated now at minute intervals by the
shattering bellows of the great foghorn.

In a few minutes the messages began to arrive. They were of similar
vague import to those of the previous seance and, couched in Little
Cherry Blossom's weird gibberish, were vaguer still. Occasionally a
spirit seeking identification went away unrecognized, but not often. For
the most part the identifying details supplied were so general that they
were almost certain to fit a departed relative or friend of some
one present. And, as is usual under such circumstances, the would-be
recognizer was so pathetically eager to recognize. Even Galusha, dully
inert as he was just then, again felt his indignation stirred by the
shabby mockery of it all.

Obed Taylor received a message from his brother Daniel who had died
in infancy. Daniel declared himself very happy. So, too, did Ophelia
Beebe's great-aunt Samona, who had "passed over" some time in the
'fifties. Aunt Samona was joyful--oh, so joyful. Miss Black's name was
called.

"Tamson!" croaked Little Cherry Blossom. "Some one heree wantee Tamson."

Miss Black uttered an exclamation of startled surprise. "Good gracious
me!" she cried. "Who is it?"

"Namee seem likee--likee Flora--Flora--somethin'," announced the
control. The circle rustled in anticipation while Tamson ransacked her
memory.

"Flora?" she repeated. "Flora?"

"Yes--yes. Flora--ah--ah--somethin'. Somethin'--soundee likee somethin'
you ring."

"Somethin' I RING. Why, all a body rings is a bell. Hey? My heavens
above, you don't mean Florabel? That ain't the name, is it--Florabel?"

"Yes--yes--yes--yes." Little Cherry Blossom was eagerly certain that
that was the name.

"Mercy on us! Florabel? You don't mean you've got a message from my
niece Florabel Tidditt, do you?"

"Yes--yes--yes--oh, yes!" The control was just as certain that niece
Florabel was on the wire.

"I don't believe a word of it."

This unusual manner of receiving a message shocked the devout. A murmur
of protest arose.

"Now, now, now, Tamson," remonstrated Miss Beebe. "You mustn't talk so.
Course you believe it if the control says so."

"I don't neither. Florabel Tidditt ain't dead. She's as well as I be. I
had a letter from her yesterday."

There was considerable agitation for a few minutes. Then it developed
that the Florabel se