Suddenly planchette swung sharply down to the lower right-hand corner of the table, from my position, and addressing Mrs. Gaylord directly—that is, writing from right to left and upside down from my viewpoint, so that his mother sitting opposite me read it as it came—Frederick wrote rapidly and strongly: “Mother dearest, this is your boy, come back to stay.” We were astounded. Given a fresh surface, planchette raced all over the sheet, in energetic circles and flourishes. It ran toward me, point first, as if it would leap off the table, paused, wheeled, crossed toward Mrs. Gaylord, retreated, darted to where her hand lay on the papers, followed as she moved it, and then resumed its apparently meaningless tracing of angles and circles. When I said that I did not understand this performance, the reply came with a whirl, followed by one of his big flourishes. “I am trying to show you that I am running this myself!” Then, very rapidly, upside down again to me: “You can’t doubt this. Even Margaret can’t doubt this.” “I haven’t doubted that you were here, Frederick,” I said. “No, but you’ve got to believe in me.” Again I placed the instrument at my left, in readiness to write, as usual, across the sheet, but he had not finished. Swinging down to the right, and moving toward the left, once more reversed from my point of view, he wrote: “Mother dearest.” Then he ran to the upper right-hand corner and wrote along that edge of the table: “Now I’ll do it this way, Mr. L——.” In circles and flourishes he crossed, to write along the left edge: “Now I’ll do it this way.” Up then, to the edge opposite me. “Now I’ll do it this way.” By this time the paper was completely covered with interlacing lines and words, except a narrow margin along the right edge. Sliding over to this, he wrote, slowly, “Now are you convinced?” We were amazed, breathless, and all somewhat moved by his determination to demonstrate his presence. Circling again to the center, already so covered with lines that we had to watch the pencil-point to make out the message, he said: “Now get the pencil.” “Did I show you then who is running this?” he demanded, when I had complied with his request. “Mother dearest, when you are inclined to backslide, remember that little exhibition, and ask yourself how you can doubt any manifestation of me that you perceive.” Mrs. Gaylord said that it was peculiarly characteristic of Frederick to insist upon making his point, and in one way or another to succeed. “Dad won’t need to see that,” Frederick stated, when Cass wished that his father might have witnessed this extraordinary performance, “but if he does, I’ll do it for him with trimmings.... He has not lost a son in any but the most superficial sense. Tell Sis I’ll do stunts for her, too, if she’ll come where Margaret is, and Babe can have her own show, too.” Again Mrs. Gaylord gasped, for he had used his own intimate names for his sisters, neither of which I had ever heard before.