to be somewheres between
the times it has got a body,' he says, 'That stands to reason. It's
always puzzled me where I was between the time I died two or three
hundred years ago and the time I entered this body,' he says, 'and
spiritualism makes it all clear. I was floatin' in space.'

"That's jist how fool-crazy Doc was them days. There he was believin'
with all his might that r'inca'nation business and that spirit business
at the same time.

"I says, 'Well, Doc, some day you'll see how deep in error you are,' and
I didn't say no more.

"Of course Doc wouldn't let well-enough alone. There was a big
spiritualist over to Peory, Illinoy, a reg'lar ghost-raisin' feller, and
what did Doc do but write over and git him to come to Kilo and give a
seance. That is a meetin' where they raise up ghosts. Doc wanted the
feller to stop at our house, but I wouldn't have it, so he had to put up
at the hotel. Doc said it was a shame, but as soon as I seen the man I
said it served him right, and that he was a fraud, but Doc swallered him
right down, hide an' hoof.

"They had the seance in the hotel parlor, and no charge, so me and ma
went, thought we wasn't jist sure it was right; but I says it wasn't as
if it was real--we knowed it was all foolishness; so ma and me trotted
along. I found out afterward that Doc paid to have the feller come
to Kilo. His name was Moller, an' he was one of them long-haired
greasy-lookin' men.

"I must say it was real scary when they turned the lights down an'
Moller made tables jump around and fiddles play without anybody playin'
on them. There wasn't many folks there, but ma held my hand, an' I held
ma's, and Doc was right in front of us.

"Moller did a lot of tricks sich as I hear they always do, an' then he
said he'd bring up any spirits anyone would like to have come up. That
was what Doc was waitin' for, and he popped right up.

"'I should like to talk to Bacon,' he says.

"'Bacon?' says Moller. 'There's a good many Bacons in spirit-land. Which
one do you want to speak to, brother?"

"'The one that lived when Shakespeare did,' says Doc. 'The one that
wrote the essays and sich. Sir Francis Bacon.'

"'Ah, yes!' says Moller. 'I'll see if he's willin' to say anyting
to-night.' And down he set into a chair. Well, you'd have died! In a bit
his head and legs begun to jerk like he had St. Vitus dance, and then he
straightened out, stiff as a broomstick. It was the silliest thing ever
I seen. I fel