I questioned her very closely, but she would not tell me any more, and I tried to dismiss the idea from my mind. Still it would constantly recur, for I knew, from experience, how true her predictions were. At last I felt as if I could bear the suspense no longer, and I went to her and said, "You _must_ tell me that the coffin you spoke of is not for one of my children, or the uncertainty will drive me mad." "Annie" thought a minute, and then said slowly, "No; it is not for one of your children." "Then I can bear anything else," I replied. The time went on, and in April an uncle of mine died. I rushed again to Lottie Fowler. "Is _this_ the death you prophesied?" I asked her. "No," she replied; "the coffin must leave your house. But this death will be followed by another in the family," which it was within the week. The following February my next-door neighbors lost their only son. I had known the boy for years, and I was very sorry for them. As I was watching the funeral preparations from my bedroom window, I saw the coffin carried out of the hall door, which adjoined mine with only a railing between. Knowing that many prophetical media _see_ the future in a series of pictures, it struck me that Lottie must have seen this coffin leaving, and mistaken the house for mine. I went to her again. This proves how the prediction had weighed all this time upon my mind. "Has not the death you spoke of taken place _now_?" I asked her. "Has not the coffin left my house?" "No," she answered; "it will be a relative, one of the family. It is much nearer now than it was." I felt uncomfortable, but I would not allow it to make me unhappy. "Annie" had said it was not one of my own children, and so long as they were spared I felt strong enough for anything.