By the time Winifred reached her fifteenth birthday she had graduated from high school, and in addition to that had "kept the home fires burning" with a knowledge that surprised her friends. But all through those years under the home roof she had maintained the practice of conversing with her dead mother. This she began in her eighth year, as a child would talk with its doll and answer back as its mother. The habit had continued through girlhood into young womanhood, minus the doll, but at the age of eighteen she made the startling claim to her father that she could converse with her dead mother at will. While humoring her belief, he nevertheless was skeptical, and shook his head indicating his doubt. "But there are certain hours of the night, when the great stillness comes on, that I can hear her voice just as plainly as I can hear yours now," said she, quite convincingly. "Why, I talked with mamma last night!" she declared with girlish vehemence. "What did she say, Winifred?" Mr. Barbour allowed himself to appear somewhat convinced by her statement. It would do her no real harm, and she would outgrow the vagary of such dreams as she grew older, according to his belief. Then, too, thoughts about her mother were for the good of the girl--an influence that should be encouraged. "She told me to study hard and become a teacher--and----" "Yes, dear--and, what?" "Well, I've been thinking how to tell you--the last message was about you," said she, smiling up into her father's eyes. "Are you at liberty to tell me?" he asked, bracing himself against the choking grief which suddenly seized him. "Yes, indeed--but you mustn't mind her solicitude for your future. She thinks you are aging too rapidly and that you must find a way out of your sorrow. She asked me to give you more companionship, and to lead you into a firm belief of the hereafter. Your lack of sincere belief leaves a gap in the way of your communicating directly with her." All this was said in a voice of sweet modulation and assuredness, a smile lighting up her face as she spoke. There was no question of her absolute convictions. "What would you suggest, Winifred?" replied her father, his voice broken, and his eyes filmed with tears. "I don't know, but mother thinks the waters of South Bay hold the solution. What could she mean by that?" "I hardly know what to think. Did she suggest any particular reason for that answer?" "Oh, yes--she said that they would bring you back to the land in time. I am glad I didn't forget that," said Winifred, jubilantly. "Let us think it out some way. Perhaps she meant that you should keep on fishing and sell your catch to the market men. Afterwards buy a farm with your earnings."