In the midst of one ecstatic whirl she paused to inquire: “Who ever started the foolish notion that there was no life beyond that one? Was he a philosopher, or a dyspeptic, or both?” And again, following some amusing nonsense, “You don’t think this would sound trivial to a scientific investigator, do you?” “What’s the matter with the scientific type of mind?” he asked. “Mostly it’s pure intellect—and life isn’t.” During another moment of jesting he said: “I don’t think I’ll bother to walk home. I’ll just float.” “Come on! We’ll float together,” she retorted. “Do you raise that, or call?” Laughing, he returned: “I’ll pass the buck to Saint Peter,” whereupon she intimated that Saint Peter was not immediately available. “Who hold the keys?” “You hold your own—not transferable.” “You are mostly pure idealist,” was another comment, a little later, replying to something he said about his own attitude toward life, “and got lost for a while in the dark.” He began to say that he should hardly have called himself an idealist, but already she was answering. “A true idealist is not a man who limits life to ideas, but a man who puts his ideals into life.” One otherwise serious statement, concerning the influence of “hard-headed, intelligent men who are not afraid to testify to their faith” in these revelations, was given a humorous touch by the signature, “Missionary Mary.” “Do you want me to go forth and testify, also?” I asked. “No, you do it, and that involves too much,” she replied. “Let your converts testify. You go on playing hermit.” “Have you seen William James?” he asked. “He is instructing many of us. Some of my newly acquired vocabulary he taught me. He is more certain and less philosophical than he was. The will to believe has given way to the duty of faith. He has learned more quickly than most do, because he is truly sincere and had cultivated his ground well. Now he is still a leader of thought and accomplishment, but his instruction is dynamic.... He is a very fine force, Manzie, and is doing magnificent work here, but he no longer smothers it in language.” Much of this parting interview must be omitted. At nine o’clock Sunday night Mr. Kendal had approached this experience in a state of high nervous tension. At midnight on Tuesday, fifty-one hours later, he left us to return home, imbued, like Mrs. Gaylord, with the vitalizing quality of this touch with the unseen and carrying with him the happy conviction that he did not go alone. VIII