I made some inquiries which led to the discovery that there had been a Mr. Timothy Jabbers once the occupant of our house, that he had at one period been in business with my wife’s father, that he was now many years dead, and that his nephews in New York were his heirs.  We never attempted to bring any claim upon them, for three reasons:  in the first place, because we knew we shouldn’t get the money; in the second, because such a procedure would give so palpable an “object” in people’s eyes for the disturbances at the house that we should, in all probability, lose the entire confidence of the entire non-spiritualistic community; thirdly, because I thought it problematical whether any constable of ordinary size and courage could be found who would undertake to summon the witness to testify in the county court at Atkinsville.

I mention the matter only because, on the theories of Spiritualism, it appeared to give some point and occasion to the phenomena, and their infesting that particular house.

Whether poor Mr. Timothy Jabbers felt relieved by having unburdened himself of his confession, I cannot state; but after he found that I paid some attention to his messages, he gradually ceased to express himself through turnips and cold keys; the rappings grew less violent and frequent, and finally ceased altogether.  Shortly after that Miss Fellows went home.

Garth and I talked matters over the day after she left.  He had brought his “thinking” to a close, whittled his opinions to a point, and was quite ready to stick them into their places for my benefit, and leave them there, as George Garth left all his opinions, immovable as the everlasting hills.

“How much had she to do with it now,—­the Fellows?”

“Precisely what she said she had, no more.  She was a medium, but not a juggler.”

“No trickery about the affair, then?”

“No trickery could have sent that turnip into my soup-plate, or that candlestick walking into the air.  There is a great deal of trickery mixed with such phenomena.  The next case you come across may be a regular cheat; but you will find it out,—­you’ll find it out.  You’ve had three months to find this out, and you couldn’t.  Whatever may be the explanation of the mystery, the man who can witness what you and I have witnessed, and pronounce it the trick of that incapable, washed-out woman, is either a liar or a fool.

“You understand yourself and your wife, and you’ve tested your servants faithfully; so we’re somewhat narrowed in our conclusions.”

“Well, then, what’s the matter?”

I was, I confess, a little startled by the vehemence with which my friend brought his clerical fist down upon the table, and exclaimed:—­

“The Devil?”

“Dear me, Garth, don’t swear; you in search of a pulpit just at this time, too!”