She hoped that Stella wouldn’t come to-night; Stella always "took it out of her." That was always the way with spirits who had lately "passed out," and who were not yet reconciled to their condition. Stella insisted upon coming back all the time to communicate with her mother—she was not only hindering her own "progression" but worrying her mother by so doing. Stella, moreover, had not yet learned the Laws of Being on the spirit-plane, and had not accustomed herself to the principles of control. Why, it was sometimes positive agony to be taken possession of by Stella. She came in with a bounce like, and it racked the medium all over; and she didn’t know how to withdraw her force gradually and easily the way older spirits did. If Wampum, Flora’s Indian control, weren’t always ready to assist her it would be something terrible. Indians had special power over physical conditions. They were Children of Nature, nearer to earth conditions than others. They had more magnetism, and knew the secrets of natural medicine. Being simple creatures, they were more easily summoned from the spirit sphere—they hadn’t "progressed" so far, and they were apt to be still actuated by the motives and desires of the flesh-plane. Oh, yes, they were often coarse and vulgar, but they meant well, indeed they did. Wampum was a great help. As Flora Flint talked, her eyes ran over the room, looking carefully at her audience. Some she bowed to smilingly; on others her glance rested with more deliberation. She came back again and again to Dougal and Maxim, and to Starr and Benton, in the rear of the room. She whispered to Vixley, after this scrutiny, and he went out to hold a colloquy with Ringa in the hall. Soon after, Mr. Spoll came in and took a seat between the two groups of Pintos. He sat rigidly erect, his thin, bony face impassive, with only his wild eyes moving. The Pintos listened with delight to Flora’s jargon. Starr, placing his note-book under his hat, on his knees, made copious notes. Maxim was most impressed, almost persuaded by the seriousness of the dialogue. Mabel was all ready to believe at the first promise of a marvel. Elsie smiled, Benton yawned, Dougal hugged his electric torch fondly inside his coat. Madam Spoll soon came in and seated herself between the two windows, under a box containing a lighted kerosene lamp. Her face, usually so complacent, was showing signs of perturbation. She was nervous, looking round every little while suddenly, running her fingers through her short cropped curly hair, throwing her head back as if she found it hard to breathe. She was without a hat, and wore, instead of her professional costume of silk and beads, a black cotton crape gown.