“Oh, great Father of us all,” said the voice. “You who are beyond our thoughts and who yet pervade our lives, grant that all evil may be kept from us this night and that we may be privileged to get in touch, if only for an hour, with those who dwell upon a higher plane than ours. You are our Father as well as theirs. Permit us, for a short space, to meet in brotherhood, that we may have an added knowledge of that eternal life which awaits us, and so be helped during our years of waiting in this lower world.” He ended with the “Our Father,” in which all joined. Then they sat in expectant silence. Outside was the dull roar of traffic and the occasional ill-tempered squawk of a passing car. Inside there was absolute stillness. Enid and Malone felt every sense upon the alert and every nerve on edge as they gazed out into the gloom. “Nothing doing, Mother,” said Bolsover at last. “It’s the strange company. New vibrations. They have to tune them in to get harmony. Give us another tune, Mr. Smiley.” Again the harmonium droned. It was still playing when a woman’s voice cried: “Stop! Stop! They are here!” Again they waited without result. “Yes! Yes! I heard Wee One. She is here, right enough. I’m sure of it.” Silence again, and then it came--such a marvel to the visitors, such a matter of course to the circle. “Gooda evenin’!” cried a voice. There was a burst of greeting and of welcoming laughter from the circle. They were all speaking at once. “Good evening, Wee One!” “There you are, dear!” “I knew you would come!” “Well done, little girl guide!” “Gooda evenin’, all!” replied the voice. “Wee One so glad see Daddy and Mummy and the rest. Oh, what a big man with beard! Mailey, Mister Mailey, I meet him before. He big Mailey, I little femaley. Glad see you, Mr. Big Man.” Enid and Malone listened with amazement, but it was impossible to be nervous in face of the perfectly natural way in which the company accepted it. The voice was very thin and high--more so than any artificial falsetto could produce. It was the voice of a female child. That was certain. Also that there was no female child in the room unless one had been smuggled in after the light went out. That was possible. But the voice seemed to be in the middle of the table. How could a child get there? “Easy get there, Mr. Gentleman,” said the voice, answering his unspoken thought. “Daddy strong man. Daddy lift Wee One on to table. Now I show what Daddy not able to do.” “The trumpet’s up!” cried Bolsover. The little circle of luminous paint rose noiselessly into the air. Now it was swaying above their heads. “Go up and hit the ceiling!” cried Bolsover. Up it went and they heard the metallic tapping above them. Then the high voice came from above: “Clever Daddy! Daddy got fishing-rod and put trumpet up to ceiling. But how Daddy make the voice, eh? What you say, pretty English Missy? Here is present from Wee One.”