ew and different throng of
winged memories. The very air took on mystery and beauty and a sweet
gravity. Matter was for the moment as subtle, as imponderable as soul.

"Who is it?" he asked, and into his voice, in spite of himself, crept
a note of awe.

The answer came instantly, faint as the fall of an autumn leaf on the
grass.

"Mother."

Kate bent eagerly forward, "Who was it, Morton?"

Ignoring her question Morton addressed the invisible one. "Can't you
speak again?"

There was no reply and the whispering ceased. Almost instantly the
horn seemed grasped by a firm and masterful hand, and the rollicking
voice of a man broke startlingly from the darkness in words so clear,
so resonant, that all could hear them.

"Hello, folks. Is this a Quaker meeting?"

"Who are you?" asked Morton.

"Can't you guess?"

Kate gasped. "Why, it's Uncle Ben Roberts!"

The voice chuckled. "Right the first time. It's old 'Loggy'--true
bill. How are you all?"

Kate could hardly speak, so great was her fear and joy. "Morton
Serviss, what do you think now? Ask him--"

The voice from the trumpet interposed. "Don't ask me a word about
conditions over here--it's no use. I can't tell you a thing."

"Why not?" asked Morton.

"Well, how would you describe a Connecticut winter to a Hottentot? Not
that you're a Hottentot"--the voice broke into an oily chuckle--"or
that I'm in a cold climate." The chuckle was renewed. "I'm very
comfortable, thank you." Here the invisible one grew tender. "My boy,
your mother is here and wants to speak to you but can't do so. She
asked me to manifest for her. She says to trust this girl and to carry
a message of love to Henry. I brought one of her colonial wineglasses
with me--as a sign of her presence and as a test of the power we have
of passing through matter."

For nearly an hour this voice kept up a perfectly normal conversation
with a running fire of quips and cranks--recalling incidents in the
lives of both Kate and Morton, arguing basic principles with Weissmann
yet never quite replying to the most searching questions, and finally
ended by saying: "Your conception of matter is childish. There is no
such thing as you understand it, and yet the universe is not as Kant
conceived it. As liberated spirits we move in an essence subtler than
any matter known to you--ether is a gross thing compared to spirit.
Your knowledge is merely rudimentary--but keep on. Take up this work
and my band will meet