Up sprang the poet and whipped off his overcoat. A table was cleared. Paper, of which planchette required a lavish supply, was brought. And the poet and the only member of the family capable of coaxing anything out of planchette sat down to the witchy little instrument which then as today aroused wondering questions. It was upon its good behavior that evening and poured forth voluble answers. While in general most unreliable, at times it did seem to have a power of divination. All the autumn of that year a “fire-bug,” still at large and undiscovered, had been doing great damage in the neighboring city of Newburyport. That evening planchette, after many aliases, did actually give a name which, later, proved to be that of the criminal. Whittier was vastly entertained with the whole performance; and--most unusual with him--it was approaching the large hours of the night when he went home. But as he rose from the table, he revealed the extent of his faith in the powers of the tricksy little toy. Turning to his coadjutor, he said to her: “If thee can write planchette as well as that, thee can write a book.” But she never did. The next instant Whittier had gone--after the manner of his flittings. * * * * * But he met in a different vein something which seemed to its narrator a hint from the spirit world--a dream which had come to her after the death of her father. In this dream she had seen him standing, a vision of health and beauty, beside the double of himself lying in last agony. He had looked down upon the suffering form as if he himself were no longer one with it; and to emphasize this had thrown a covering over the dead face. This dream had been twice repeated with only slight variations. Whittier listened with eager interest; and then turning to the narrator, he said impressively: “That was a good dream. I think that was sent to comfort thee.” The poet would sometimes talk of the relations of those gone to another world to their dear ones still here; and would wonder if the departed knew of sorrow or loss to them--or, still worse, of sin in the earth-bound ones whom they watched. Yet, if this were so, he said, their outlook into the future must be larger than ours, or their faith much greater; and so, they would perceive, or believe, that all would yet be well. XXVIII In memory of the dear ones gone before, Whittier was desirous to buy back the old birthplace in Haverhill. To his friend, Colonel F----, conducting the negotiations for him, he wrote: “I would leave it to any three competent judges of property in the neighborhood to fix a price, if we could not agree among ourselves.” The purchase, however, fell through on account of the unreasonable price demanded. The owners reckoned upon Whittier’s vanity in desiring to get possession of the scene of “Snow-Bound.”