Over and over he begged her to say that she was convinced of his presence and identity, and at last she gave him this assurance. “Oh, thank God!” He made strong circles, before running up to a clear space some inches above, to add, “Tell Dad.” For the first time, a possible explanation of his inexorable refusal to give me a message for his father occurred to me, and when I asked, he said, “Yes, I want to reach them through her.” He told her not to think of him as he had been during the months of his last illness, saying: “Forget all that. It is over, and I am well and strong, and happier than ever—now.” When we wondered whether it had distressed him to be unable to communicate with his family, he said, “Yes, I needed that.” “Will you talk every day, you and she?” he asked, presently. “Thank you.” “Mrs. Gaylord, Frederick is a fine force,” followed immediately, in a more running script, and when I said this must be Mary Kendal, the answer was: “Yes. Tell Manse I love him.... Tell him again.” “He doesn’t need to be told that,” I assured her, as I had so many times before. And again she returned: “Yes, he does. There are reasons. Tell him.” I promised to write to him once more, and she continued: “Mrs. Gaylord, Frederick wants you to be sure that he is doing more here than he could there. You should not grieve for that, should you? You have a fearless mind in other things. Trust for that. Good-by.” “Mother dearest, that was Mrs. Kendal,” Frederick resumed, with his more vigorous movement. “She is a missionary, and a fine force.” Noticing the repetition of this word, I asked, “You say force, not spirit?” “No, force is what moves things.” To his mother’s inquiry about a friend, he replied: “He is here with me, working. Bob’s little girl is here, too.” She told me that a medium visited by his sisters had described him with a little girl, saying that he wanted them to “tell Bob.” [I had heard this from them, also, and the subject recurred later.] “Yes,” he acquiesced. “Same child.” When she expressed her belief that he was still alive and growing, promising that she would be happier in future, he said: “Thank you, Mother dearest. That is all I need. Tell Dad to be happy, too. I am with him. He has not lost a son. I am better and bigger and more useful than I ever could have been there, but I have been sorry you suffered so much.” “Have you been trying recently to let us know you were with us?” she inquired. “Yes, for months. At first I could not.” He said that Mary Kendal had found him for us, and when I mentioned that Mary K. had come first to me, he explained: “Yes, she is more used to it. She found Mrs. Kendal, and she told me.” “You had better get your lunch,” he suggested, after a pause, rousing us from our complete absorption to a consciousness that it was late. Mrs. Gaylord denied being hungry, but he warned her—characteristically, I learned afterward, “You will have a headache, Mother dearest, if you don’t.”