"Mitchell" then came and said: "_We are deeply interested in your experiments, Mr. Garland, and will afford you all the aid in our power. It is hard to meet your tests--hard, I mean, for our medium, but we will assist her to fill the requirements._" "Thank you. I don't see how any psychic could be more submissive." Mrs. Miller, deeply impressed by all this, began to inquire concerning those of the invisible host whose names were familiar to her. It was evident that she, at least, was convinced of their reality. Meanwhile, the movement of the cone interested Miller more than the messages. "How does she do it?" he exclaimed several times. "To touch Mrs. Miller means that the psychic must not only have free use of her hands: she must rise from her chair and pass behind me and the wall." "The precision of the action is my amazement," I replied. "I've noticed this same thing many times. Apparently, darkness is no barrier to action on the part of these forces. That cone, you will observe, can touch you on the nose, eyelid, or ear, softly, without jar or jolt. It came to me just now like a sentient thing--like something human. Such unerring flight is uncanny. Could any trickster perform in the dark with such precision and gentleness? Of course this is not conclusive as argument, but at the same time it has weight. Whose is the eye that directs this instrument? Can you tell us, 'Wilbur'?" A chuckle came through the cone. "_I'm doing it._" "How can you see?" "_Day and night are all the same to me._" Miller held up his right hand. "Prove it; touch my knuckles!" he commanded. After a moment's silent soaring the cone struck his left hand, which was farthest from the psychic, and a voice followed it with laughter, asking: "_What made you jump?_" Before Miller had recovered from the surprise of this, the table seemed to be grasped and shaken as if by a man of giant strength--and yet the cone and the books did not shift position. Hands patted the pillows on a sofa at Miller's right, and one of these cushions was flung against his chair. The room seemed to swarm with tricksy Pucks. At last the cone took flight again, and moved about freely among the heap of books and over Miller's head, while a variety of voices came successively from it, some of them speaking to Mrs. Miller and some to me. Several of the names given were known to Mrs. Miller, and a few were recognizable by me. They all claimed to be spirits of the dead with messages of good cheer for friends on "the earth-plane," but they were all rather vague and stereotyped. Once I thought I could see the cone passing between me and the window, high above the table. It seemed to float horizontally as if in water. Some of the spirits were too weak to raise the cone--so "Wilbur" said; too weak, even, to whisper.