no
business there at all. So we're blown up just the same.

"The danger...? Oh! the danger's this, Mr. Cathcart says. At
_seances_, if they're genuine, and with automatic handwriting and all
the rest, you deliberately approach those powers in a friendly way,
and by the sort of passivity which you've got to get yourself into,
you open yourself as widely as possible to their entrance. Very often
they can't get in; and then you're only bothered. But sometimes they
can, and then you're done. It's particularly hard to get them out
again.

"Now, of course, no one in his senses--especially decent people--would
dream of doing all this if he knew what it all meant. So these
creatures, whatever they may be, always pretend to be somebody else.
They're very sharp: they can pick up all kinds of odds and ends,
little tricks, and little facts; and so, with these, they impersonate
someone whom the inquirer's very fond of; and they say all sorts of
pious, happy little things at first in order to lead them on. So they
go on for a long time saying that religion's quite true. (By the way,
it's rather too odd the way in which the Catholic Church seems the one
thing they don't like! You can be almost anything else, if you're a
spiritualist; but you can't be a Catholic.) Generally, though, they
tell you to say your prayers and sing hymns. (Father Mahon the other
day, when I was arguing with him about having some hymns in church,
said that heretics always went in for hymns!) And so you go on. Then
they begin to hint that religion's not worth much; and then they
attack morals. Mr. Cathcart wouldn't tell me about that; but he said
it got just as bad as it could be, if you didn't take care."

Maggie paused again, looking rather serious. Her voice had risen a
little, and a new color had come to her face as she talked. She
stooped to pick up the saucer.

"Dearest, had you better--"

"Oh! yes: I've just about done," said Maggie briskly. "There's hardly
any more. Well, there's the idea. They want to get possession of human
beings and move them, so they start like that.

"Well; that's what Mr. Cathcart says happened to Laurie. One of those
Beasts came and impersonated poor Amy. He picked up certain things
about her--her appearance, her trick of stammering, and of playing
with her fingers, and about her grave and so on: and then, finally,
made his appearance in her shape."

"I don't understand about that," murmured the girl.

"Oh! my dear,