house. I've witnessed some wonderful manifestations in that
front parlor." She turned to Winthrop and smiled. "So, you see,"
she exclaimed, "I was born and brought up in this business. I am
the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter. My grandmother was a
medium, my mother was a medium -- she worked with the Fox
sisters before they were exposed. But, my aunt," she added
thoughtfully, judicially, "was the greatest medium I have ever
seen. She did certain things I couldn't understand, and I know
every trick in the trade -- unless," she explained, "you believe
the spirits helped her."

Winthrop was observing the girl intently, with a new interest.

"And you don't believe that?" he asked, quietly.

"How can I?" Vera said. "I was brought up with them." She shook
her head and smiled. "I used to play around the kitchen stove
with Pocahontas and Alexander the Great, and Martin Luther lived
in our china closet. You see, the neighbors wouldn't let their
children come to our house; so, the only playmates I had were
-- ghosts." She laughed wistfully. "My!" she exclaimed, "I was a
queer, lonely little rat. I used to hear voices and see visions.
I do still," she added. With her elbows on the arms of her
chair, she clasped her hands under her chin and leaned forward.
She turned her eyes to Winthrop and nodded confidentially.

"Do you know," she said, "sometimes I think people from the
other world do speak to me."

"But you said," Winthrop objected, "you didn't believe."