bit
her lip to keep from smiling at the hackneyed phrase uttered by mortal
tongue!

"You sound so real, Peter," Julie said, bluntly. "Is it always like
this?"

For Julie had never attended a _seance_ before.

"No, sister," the voice said, speaking more clearly with every word;
"this is an unusual occasion. Perhaps,--perhaps the medium can bring
about materialization to-night."

"Oh, don't," Julie cried out, "I'm scared!"

"Don't be frightened, Julie," Peter said, his voice faint again, "I
won't hurt you."

The well-remembered gentleness reassured Julie, and she held tight to
her parents' hands and listened.

"I have a message for each of you," the voice went on; "or you may each
ask me a question, as you prefer."

"I'll ask," Julie exclaimed; "Peter, dear Peter Boots, tell me that Mac
never killed Gilbert. I know it, yet I want you to say so. They told me
you didn't know, and that you were misinformed and all that. You do
know, don't you, Peter?"

"Yes, Julie, I know. And Mac didn't kill Gilbert at all. But I know who
did. Shall I tell?"

"Yes," cried out several in chorus.

And then, from out the dark shadows behind Weston's chair, there slowly
appeared a dark, cloaked form. A black-draped, hooded figure, that moved
slowly toward them. A tall, big figure that seemed to loom out of the
darkness, and then the hood fell back a little, a white ghostly face
appeared dimly and a slowly raised hand pointed to Kit Shelby.

"Thou art the man!" came in low, accusing tones, and they were
unmistakably Peter's.

Julie shrieked, and the accused man gave a strange, guttural sound,
expressive of abject fear, and as the tall figure drew nearer, he rose
to flee from its avenging shape.

Shelby didn't go far, for his progress was stopped by the burly form of
Detective Weston, who advised him to sit down.

"Confess!" went on the figure that seemed to be Peter, and with wild
eyes, fairly starting from their sockets at the sight, Shelby cried out,
"I did, oh, Peter, I did!" and then he fell in a convulsion of fright
and terror.

And then, Peter Boots himself switched on the lights, threw off his long
cloak, and turned to take his mother in his arms.

"My boy, my boy!" she said, knowing intuitively and instantaneously
that it was her son, alive and found.

Benjamin Crane was a picture of utter perplexity. Unable to accept the
obvious, he tried for a moment to believe in a marvelous
"materialization," but Peter came