"The child was the lady’s with the white hair." "What about it?" demanded Mr. Payson. "I see the child standing by a lady who grew gray very young, you understand. And now they’re both gone. Was you ever interested in Sacramento or somewhere east of here?" "Stockton?" he asked. "I lived there for a while." "That’s it. I see a river, and steamboats coming in, and there’s the child again." "A boy or a girl?" She hesitated for a moment to dart a glance at him as swift as an arrow. Then she risked it. "A girl." He drew a long breath. "I don’t quite understand." "It certainly is a little girl, and she’s with the lady with the gray hair. But wait a minute. Now I get a little boy, and he’s crying." "Where is he?" came eagerly from Payson’s lips. "He’s on this side. He’s alive. I’ll ask my guide." She plunged into another stupor, then shook herself, rubbed her forehead, wrung her hands. "I can’t get it quite strong enough to-day, but I’ll find out later. He seems to be mixed up with you, some way, not in what you might call business, but more personally. You’re worried about him." Mr. Payson, with a shrug of his shoulders, appeared to disclaim this. "Yes, you are! You may not realize it, but you are. The time will come when you understand what I mean. Now you’re too much interested in other things. Your mind is way off—toward New York, like, or in that direction." He looked puzzled. "Maybe it ain’t as far as New York, but it’s somewhere around there, and I see books and printing presses. Do you have anything to do with printing?" This he also disclaimed. "Funny!" she persisted. "I get you by a printing-press looking at a book and then I see you at a table writing." "I have done some writing, but it has never been printed." "Well, it will be! My guide tells me that you have a great talent for literary writing, and it could be developed to a great success. "Now," she added, "you let me hold your hands a while till I get the magnetism stronger. Just hold them firm—that’s right. Lord, you needn’t squeeze them _quite_ so hard!" She beamed upon him with obvious coquetry. "Now I’m going into a trance. I don’t know whether Luella will come, or maybe little Eva. Eva’s the cunningest little tot and as bright as a dollar. She’s awful cute. You mustn’t mind anything she says or does, though. Sometimes, I admit, she mortifies me, when sitters tell me what she’s been up to. I’ve known her to sit on men’s laps and kiss ’em and hug ’em, like she was their own daughter, but Lord, she don’t know any better. She’s innocent as a baby." His face grew harder as she said this, but she proceeded, nevertheless, with her experiment, closing her eyes and sitting for a while in silence. Then her muscles twitched violently; she squirmed and wriggled her shoulders. Finally she spoke, in a high, squeaky falsetto, a fair ventriloquistic imitation of a child’s voice.