It was doubtless owing to Benjamin Crane’s attitude regarding his son’s death that the home did not present more the aspect of a house of mourning.  Both Crane and his wife were not only resigned to Peter’s fate, but they seemed positively happy in what they believed to be continued communion with his spirit.

As Mrs. Crane said, “When Peter was a child the gypsies said he would go away and be lost, but he would return to us.  He has done so, he is doing so ­why should we grieve?  He tells us he is happy and contented in his new sphere of existence, therefore, we are, too.”

“That’s all very well,” Carlotta Harper would respond, “but I don’t look at it that way at all.  I want my Peter Boots back again in the flesh.  I’m not contented at all with a lot of spirit talk communicated through a paid medium!”

“Don’t say paid medium, as if the paying detracted from her worth,” Benjamin Crane chid the girl.  “Of course, we pay Madame Parlato for her time ­why should we not?  It’s the best money I ever spent!  And you’re a medium yourself, Carlotta.  You hate to acknowledge it, but you are.  Your work with the Ouija Board is perfectly marvelous, and I have proved to my own satisfaction that you never use the least fraud.”

“Indeed, I don’t,” said Carlotta, earnestly, “but what’s the use?  What do I care to have Peter talk on that wooden board ­if it is Peter ­I want him, himself!”

Carlotta was passing through strange moods.  Living alone with her mother, their home seemed far more a house of mourning than the Cranes’.

The girl grieved deeply for Peter.  Though not definitely engaged, she knew their betrothal would have been sealed on his return.  And not having the comfort that the Cranes so gladly accepted, she sorrowed for her lost love.

Her success with the Ouija Board was a matter of mystery to her mother and to all who knew of it.  It seemed that she must be a medium, or possess some occult power, for whenever she placed her finger-tips on the little board it immediately began to move, and told such remarkable things that there was occasion for surprise.  Nor did Carlotta move the board of her own volition.  It was easily seen that she did not “push” or urge it in any direction.  The most careful scrutiny could not only discern no effort of hers, but could not fail to be convinced that she made none.  Her friends came often to beg her to give them a session.  Her fame spread until it began to annoy her.

Gilbert Blair talked to her about it.

“You know, Carly,” he said, “it’s not really a message from a spirit you get, it’s ­”

“It’s what, Gilbert?” she asked, smiling.  “Don’t you tell me it’s fraud on my part, because it isn’t.”

“No, I don’t think it’s conscious fraud, but ­”

“But you don’t know what it is, do you?” the girl smiled at him, and Blair, looking deep in her eyes, said:  “No, I don’t know what it is, and I don’t care.  But I care about you.  Carly, dear, can’t you learn to love me?  I’m not as good a chap as Peter ­dear old Peter.  But I love you ­oh, girl, how I love you!”

“The Ouija Board said that Peter wanted me to turn my affections toward Kit Shelby.”

“It didn’t! did it?  Then that proves that it was no real message from Peter!  He would rather you’d turn toward me.”

“How do you know?”

“Oh, we used to talk about you up in the snows of Labrador.  And Peter loved you lots, but he knew I did, too, and we agreed that the best man should win.  I don’t mean the best man, but the one who stood best in your heart.  And now ­oh, Carly, if you only would ­”

“Not yet, Gilbert ­don’t let’s talk about it yet.”

“But Peter’s been dead nearly six months, and you weren’t actually engaged, you know ­”

“How do you know that?”

“Peter told me, oh, we were confidential up there.  And, now, Peter’s gone, and try, won’t you, Carly, try to love me.  Shelby isn’t in my way, is he?”

“I don’t know ­he wants to be.”

“Of course he does!  But I won’t give up to him!  Peter was different.  He was a wonder, that chap!”

“Indeed, he was.  And I care too much for his memory to think about any one else ­yet.”

“But some day, Carly ­dear, some day?”

“Some day we’ll see about it.  Gilbert, what do you think of that medium the Cranes go to all the time?”

“Absolute rubbish.”

“I think that, too.  But she’s doing queer stunts.  She’s begun materializing things.”

“What sort of things?”

“I don’t know exactly.  Flowers, I believe, and hands and faces.”

“You know all the legerdemain people do that.”

“That’s no argument, Gilbert, and you know it.  The charlatans can do all the things that the real mediums do.  The question is not whether the fakers can do them, but whether the real mediums can.”

“Meaning whether the real mediums are real or not?”

“Yes, that’s what I mean.  If ever there was a real one.  I think Madame Parlato is one.  But I’m not sure.  She does the Cranes a lot of good.  They believe ­”

“Not Julie.”

“Oh, no, Julie hates the whole business.  I think she’d be convinced, though, except for Mr. Thorpe.  He’s such a skeptic that he influences Julie.”

“I thought Thorpe was rather interested in that direction.”

“Well, rather!  Why, they’ve been exclusively interested in each other all winter.”

“Thorpe’s a close-mouthed chap.  We live together, but we seldom exchange confidences.  I like him pretty well, but ­”

“But what?”

“I oughtn’t to say it, but I don’t altogether trust him.  We’re working for a prize, you know, the Callender medal, and sometimes I’ve imagined that he ­”

“I know, he steals your ideas.”

“Well, I wouldn’t put it so bluntly, but he is an unconscious kleptomaniac, I think.  He watches my drawing ­I go astray sometimes to mislead him ­and next thing I know he incorporates the same motive in his own sketches.  I wouldn’t say this to any one else, but I’m a little worried about it.  Not so much about his taking my stuff as the fear that some one will think I’ve taken his.”

“How’s your work progressing?”

“Well ­if Thorpe lets me alone.”

“Can’t you lock yourself in?”

“Oh, no; we use the same studio, and if I seemed fearful he would be angry at once.  He’s a strange nature, Thorpe.  Morbid and secretive, yet a good friend and a first-rate living companion.  You see, we’ve separate bedrooms, of course, but we’ve only the one big room that’s studio and sitting-room combined.  We have to use it together, but as our friends are pretty much the same bunch, we get along all right.  We have lockers and all that, but I hate to lock up my sketches when I go out.  It looks as if I didn’t trust him.”

“Well, you don’t.”

“No; but I can’t tell him so.  Nor do I want to hint it ­at least not until I find some definite proof.  Get out your Ouija Board, Carly, and see if it will tell us anything.”

“Oho, you believe in it fast enough when you want to use it?”

But a trial of the occult only brought Blair the advice to beware of a friend who might be at heart an enemy.  To be careful of his plans and sketches, for there was some one near who might be guilty of deceit.

All of which Blair knew before.

The sessions which the Cranes held with Madame Parlato increased in importance and interest.

She had succeeded in materializing the face and form of their son to their satisfaction of his identity.  They told remarkable tales of seeing and hearing Peter Boots, until Julie ran out of the room lest she voice her disapproval too strongly.  For Julie Crane, though an absolute unbeliever in Madame Parlato and all her works, was a devoted daughter, and would do nothing to disturb the happiness her parents felt in the séances with the medium.

But one performance fairly staggered the group of listeners to whom the Cranes recounted it.

They returned from the medium’s to find the young people sitting round the hospitable Crane fireside.  It was mid March and the weather still allowed of the cheerful open fire.

Carlotta was there and Shelby, and Blair and Thorpe, with Julie, of course, made up the little party.

“The most marvelous yet!” Benjamin Crane exclaimed, as he drew near the fire.  “Julie, dear, if you don’t want to hear, run away, for I must tell about it.”

But Julie stayed, and her parents told the story.

It seemed the medium had promised them something very definite by way of proof, and she had certainly kept her promise.

The materialization of Peter had taken place, and, as the spirit form slowly dissolved and faded from their view, there was left behind, lying on the table, an object that had not been there before.

It was a tobacco pouch, old and worn, and bearing Peter’s initials.

Julie looked at it with horror-stricken eyes, as her father produced it from his pocket.

“Why,” she gasped, “it’s the one I gave him on his birthday.”

“Not really!” cried Shelby, and both he and Blair leaned eagerly forward to look.

“It’s the one he always carried with him in Labrador,” Blair said, with an expression of blank wonderment.  “How did it get down here?”

“I offer no explanation, save the true one,” Benjamin Crane said, seriously.  “That is, as you see, a real object.  It is Peter’s property.  You, Blair, recognize it.  Do you, Shelby?”

“I do,” Shelby replied, his eyes staring at the thing.

“Julie recognized it at once,” went on Crane.  “So there’s no doubt of its identity.  Now, I submit that it would be impossible for Madame Parlato to have come by this in any natural way, therefore it is supernatural.”

“Supernatural!” McClellan Thorpe exclaimed, with utter scorn in his voice.  “How could that be, sir?”

“It was materialized by my son, Peter,” Crane returned, looking at Thorpe, calmly.  “That may seem incredible to you, but it is not so incredible as any other explanation you may offer.  You cannot think my wife or I would misstate what happened, can you?  You cannot assume that Madame Parlato obtained this in any underhanded way, for you cannot conceive of any way in which she could do so.  Then, what do you suggest?”

“Anything, but that Peter brought it!” Thorpe cried.

“Ah, yes; anything but the truth.  You glibly say ‘anything,’ but I ask you to suggest what you mean in that ‘anything,’ and you fail to reply.”

“There is nothing to suggest,” Blair said; “I confess myself utterly at a loss to suggest anything.  To my certain knowledge Peter had that on his person when he died!  Why, that morning he had given me a pipeful out of it, and had then returned it to his pocket!  My explanation is that Peter is alive!”

“I wish that were the true one,” said Benjamin Crane, fervently, “but if you’ll think a minute, Gilbert, you’ll realize that if Peter were alive he would come to us in the flesh, and not send his tobacco pouch by a medium.”

“Indeed, he would!” agreed Carlotta, “much as I’d love to believe Peter alive, this episode contradicts such a belief, not proves it!”

“That’s right,” said Shelby, thoughtfully; “I, too, can believe anything rather than that the medium caused the materialization of this thing, but ­”

“The medium didn’t cause it, exactly,” broke in Mrs. Crane’s gentle voice; “you see, we had begged Peter so hard for a material proof that he promised to try to give it to us.  And at last he succeeded.  It is miraculous, of course, but no more miraculous than the strange things recorded in the Bible.  You see, I hold that the day of miracles is not past.”

Shelby said gravely, “You must be right, for there’s surely no other explanation.  I, too, saw this in Peter’s hand that last day we were together.  I can’t believe he’s alive ­”

“Of course not!” interrupted Blair, “if he were, he’d have no use for mediums!  Whatever is the truth, it’s not that Peter’s alive!  I only wish it might be, but as Carlotta says, this thing contradicts such a theory.  I’m beaten.  I see no light at all.”

Benjamin Crane smiled.  “You boys admit you see no explanation yet you refuse to accept the obvious and only one possible.  But I’m not going to try to persuade you, I’ve no reason to do so.  It all means little to you, but it is as the breath of life to me and to Peter’s mother.  I trust that some day Julie will be convinced of these truths, but that is for her to decide.  I shall add this revelation to my book, by way of an appendix.  It’s too late to incorporate it in the body of the work.”

Benjamin Crane’s book had been a work of absorbing interest to him if not to his friends.  He was entirely obsessed by the whole matter of Spiritism, and his book, following the style of a celebrated work of a similar nature in England, was even now in the publisher’s hands.

The book was a memorial to Peter and an account of the experiences of his parents during the sessions with the medium.  Crane possessed a pleasant, convincing style, and the book was well written and of a real interest quite apart from the question of the reader’s belief in its matter.

When the volume was published, and that was early in April, it became an immediate success.  Not the least of the reasons for this was the astounding account of the materialization of the tobacco pouch, detailed exactly as Benjamin Crane had told the story the night of the occurrence.

The book went like wildfire.  Edition after edition was sold, and Benjamin Crane found himself famous.  The benign old gentleman took his notoriety calmly, and refused to see the people who thronged to his door unless they were personal acquaintances.  He had to engage secretaries and other assistants, but his methodical and efficient mind easily coped with all such matters.  Mrs. Crane, too, was serenely indifferent to the publicity of it all, and pursued her simple ways of life undisturbed.

But Julie was angry at it all.  Her life, she said, was spoiled by being known as the daughter of a demented monomaniac.

Her father smiled at her and told her she would change her views some day, and her mother scolded her now and then, but mostly ignored the subject when talking with her.

Julie found sympathy in the views of McClellan Thorpe.

Neither of these two would believe in the materialization of the tobacco pouch, yet neither of them could arrive at any satisfactory explanation of the incident.

“Of course, it’s Peter’s pouch,” Julie would say; “but it came to that woman by some natural means.  Maybe, somebody found it up there in Labrador and brought it home ­”

“No,” Thorpe would object, “in that case it would be weather-worn and defaced, and, too, nobody would have any reason to find it, bring it home, and give it to Madame Parlato!  No, Carly, that won’t do.”

“Maybe he had two ­duplicates,” Carly suggested once.  But inquiries of the Crane family proved that was not so.  It was the very one Julie had given her brother, she was sure of that.

And so that mystery remained unexplained, save by the acceptance of a miracle.

A very material result of the success of Crane’s book was a large amount of money that came to him from its royalties.  Some of this he decided to use in fitting out an expedition to recover his son’s body.

This, he decreed, was to be under the direction of Shelby and Blair, who knew just how it should be conducted.  With his usual efficiency, Crane made all the arrangements and then told the young men about what he had done.

They agreed to go, but Shelby advised first that he write to Joshua, their old guide, as to their reception.

This was done, but the reply received caused a halt in the preparations.

For the letter, which Shelby brought over for Crane to read, ran thus: 

     “DEAR MISTER SHELBY: 

“I think youd better not try to take back the boddy of Mister Peter.  We berried it verry deep and it better remain here.  Anny way, you cant mannage it till late summer.  Say about August or so.”

“However, Mr. Crane,” Shelby said, “if you say so, we can go ahead in spite of Joshua’s letter.  He’s a good guide, but he always was a bit dictatorial.”

“No,” Benjamin Crane said, “I believe in taking advice from one who is undoubtedly good authority.  We’ll postpone the plan until August.”

When Blair was told of it he was rather relieved, for he was busy with his prize drawings and he didn’t want to leave town.

“Let’s see the letter,” he said to Shelby.

“I haven’t it, Blair.  I left it with Mr. Crane.  But I’ve told you the gist of it.”

“All right, Kit,” and Blair went on with his work.

It was the next night at the Crane house that Mr. Crane again spoke of his disappointment at not putting through his hoped-for expedition.

“You see, Kit,” he said to Shelby, “I want to write another book, and I want it to be about the recovery of Peter’s body.”

“Oh, don’t do that, Mr. Crane,” Shelby said, impulsively; “it would be anti-climax.  You’ve done a big thing, and scored a success.  Another book would spoil it all.”

“I don’t think so,” said Crane, not at all annoyed at Shelby’s attitude.  “Anyway, I hate to give up my plan.  See here, Shelby, are you sure that man Joshua wrote the letter you got?”

“Why, yes.  What makes you ask that?”

“Only because it’s in a big sprawly hand, and once Blair showed me a letter from Joshua, which he’s kept as a memento, and it was in a small cramped hand.”

“That’s queer.  But I expect Joshua might have got somebody to write for him.  Those half-breeds are not very scholarly, you know.  However, if there’s any doubt about it, the matter must be looked into.  Do you mean that maybe we can go now, after all?  But I can’t help thinking that Joshua wrote that.  I know he’s not very strong on spelling!”

“Well, Blair will know.  You ask him for that letter he has of Joshua’s.”

“All right, Mr. Crane, I will.  I’ll see him to-night.  There’s a dinner on at the Club, and he’ll be there.  You know he’s in a fair way, I think, to get that Callender prize.”

“I hope so, I’m sure.  A rising young architect, Blair is, and I hope he wins it.  I suppose he wouldn’t want to go to Labrador until that matter is settled?”

“No, probably not.  But the award will be made this month.”

“And he’s in a fair way to get it?”

“Looks that way to me.  His sketches are fine, though I haven’t seen his finished work.  Thorpe’s a close second, I imagine.”

“I suppose I’d rather see Thorpe get it, but don’t tell Blair that.  A man is naturally interested in his future son-in-law.”

“Oh, it’s gone as far as that, has it?”

“Yes, but it’s not announced yet.  So say nothing till Julie tells you to.  She’s a dear girl, but as hard as adamant where belief in the occult is concerned.”

“She and Thorpe are at one there.”

“Yes, that helped the affair along, I fancy.  But it’s all right.  Julie can think what she likes.  Peter used to hate the subject, too.”

“I know it.  We touched on it now and then, but he usually veered off to something else at once.”

“What do you think about the pouch, Shelby?  I’m not sure I ever asked you.”

“I don’t think, Mr. Crane.  I mean I can’t explain the thing by natural means, and I’m unable to believe in the supernatural.  What more can I say?”

“Nothing.  I suppose most people are like that.  Thank heaven.  I’m made so that I can believe!”