“I have long known,” he said, “that they whom we call dead are more alive than we are. I, too, have talked with them. Like St. Paul I am a spiritualist, a word which generally excites fear and horror in unenlightened minds. I preach spiritualism, plain and pure, but I don’t name it. Sometimes it is best not to label one’s knowledge. It only prejudices the ignorant against it, and builds a fence around one’s own mind as well as around one’s neighbor’s. A name is a limitation. That’s one reason why I cannot work in any organization. I keep my spirit free, ever ready to absorb more truth, and I preach a free gospel, which, like all things else is susceptible to the influence of new light. Truth is not all revealed to any man. Little by little one learns to know a greater degree of it, and so grows more and more free from error. What is evolution but a gradual growing out of darkness into light? The proof that we live again is of tremendous importance, because with it comes the knowledge that every thought as well as every deed helps in the building of our souls and our eternal destiny. That we shall live always is a fact in nature, but in what estate depends upon ourselves, upon our thoughts, aspirations and efforts, for man is the expression, or sum, of his desires. Here or elsewhere they shall be realized.” Gabriel wished he might have the great pleasure of a word with Prescott, whom he loved. Chrissalyn granted permission, and he went one evening to see the wonders of Planchette. Prescott obligingly came, and when Gabriel, with tears shining in his eyes asked if he had any particular message for him, answered: “Only to thank you for your good words about me in the church, when I could not speak for myself.” Gabriel had been one of several friends, orthodox and unorthodox, who made brief addresses at Prescott’s funeral, which, by the grace of a liberal-minded and great-hearted minister, was held in a church, in spite of the fact that the dead editor was a bold unbeliever. At these grateful words the eyes of the gentle preacher glistened and his voice wavered with feeling, as he said: “You deserved all the praise I gave you. You did your best. You spoke truth and lived truth as you saw it. None can do more.” In saying this Gabriel unconsciously raised his voice higher and higher till he ended in a shout, so natural was it to think of Prescott as far off because he was out of sight. “Thank you again, Gabriel,” he wrote; “but let me tell you, that although I used to be a little deaf, I hear perfectly well now.” Gabriel laughed heartily as it dawned upon him that he had been shouting at his invisible friend, and thought Prescott must be laughing too. “Are all cured of their physical defects over there?” Gabriel asked.