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  CHAPTER IV

  The Prophecy Recalled

  The steamer from Newfoundland that brought Shelby and Blair to New Yorkarrived during Christmas week.

  The two men, however, were far from feeling holiday cheer as theyreached the wharf and faced the hard trial of telling Mr. and Mrs. Craneof their son's death.

  But it had to be done, and they felt it their duty to lose no time inperforming the sad errand.

  No one met them at the steamer, for its hour of arrival was uncertainand they had discouraged their friends from the attempt.

  Indeed only telegrams from Newfoundland had apprised any one of theirarrival, for letters would have come by the same boat they camethemselves.

  "Let's go straight to the Cranes' and get it over," said Blair; with asigh. "I dread the ordeal."

  "So do I," Shelby confessed. "I wish we could see Mr. Crane alone,first."

  "We must do that, of course. It's only eight o'clock, and we're ready tostart now. Come ahead."

  They sent their luggage to their homes and took a taxi for the Cranetown house, on upper Park Avenue.

  By good fortune, Mr. Crane was at home and received them in his library.They had asked to see him alone, giving no names.

  "My stars, if it isn't the wanderers returned!" exclaimed their host, ashe entered and saw the two. "Where's my boy? Hiding behind the windowcurtain?"

  But the expression on his visitors' faces suddenly checked his speech,and turning pale, Benjamin Crane dropped into the nearest chair.

  "What is it?" he whispered, in a shaking voice. "I know it's bad news.Is Peter----"

  "Yes," said Shelby, gently, but feeling that the shortest statement wasmost merciful. "The Labrador got him."

  By a strange locution, Labrador, as we call it, is spoken of up there asThe Labrador, and the phrase gives a sinister sound to the name. Itpersonifies it, and makes it seem like a living menace, a sentientdanger.

  "Tell me about it," said Benjamin Crane, and his tense, strained voicetold more of his grief than any outburst could have done.

  * * * * *

  "Lost in the snow! My little Peter Boots----" he said, after he hadlistened in silence to their broken recital. "Tell me more," he urged,and eagerly drank in any details they could give him of the tragedy andalso of the doings of the party before that last, fatal day.

  Blair looked at him in secret amazement. How could the man take it socalmly? But Shelby, a deeper student of human character, understood howthe fearful shock of tragedy had stunned the loving father-heart. Slowlyand quietly, Shelby related many incidents of the trip, drew wordpictures of Peter in his gayest moods, told tales of his courage,bravery and unfailing good spirits.

  But, though these things interested Crane and held his attention, therewas no way to lessen the poignant sorrow of the last story,--the accountof the terrible storm and the awful fate of Peter.

  Shelby broke down, and Blair finished, with a few broken sentences.

  The deep grief of the two, the sincere love of Peter and sorrow at hisdeath proved better than protestations that they had done all mortaleffort could do.

  "I am not sure, sir," Shelby said, finally, "that we acted wisely, butit seemed the only course to take. We could not persuade any one to gofor us or with us in search of Peter's body, until March at theearliest. To go alone, was mere suicide, and though I was tempted to doeven that, rather than to return without him, it would not have beenallowed."

  "Oh, I understand perfectly," Crane said, quickly, "I wouldn't have hadyou do otherwise than just as you did. There was no use trying theimpossible."

  "But we will return in March----" began Blair.

  "Perhaps," said Crane, a little preoccupied in manner, "or I will send asearch party myself. There's no reason you boys should go."

  This was a real relief, for though more than willing, the two men werefar from anxious to undertake the gruesome errand.

  "And now," their host went on, "if you agree, I'll send for Mrs. Crane.At first, I thought I'd rather tell her the news when we were byourselves,--but, I know there are questions she will want to ask you,things that I might not think of,--and I know you'll be willing toanswer her."

  All unconscious of the scene awaiting her, Mrs. Crane came into theroom.

  A bewildered look on her sweet, placid face showed her inability tograsp the situation quickly.

  Then, "Why, boys," she cried, "when did you come home? Where's Peter?"

  To the others' relief Benjamin Crane told his wife of their mutual loss.Very gently he told her, very lovingly he held her hand and comfortedher crushed and breaking heart. Shelby and Blair instinctively turnedaside from the pitiful scene and waited to be again addressed.

  At length Mrs. Crane turned her tear-stained face to them. Not so calmas her husband, she begged for details, then she wept and sobbed sohysterically she could scarcely hear them. Her thoughts flew back to theyears when Peter was a lad, a child, a baby,--and her talk of him becamealmost incoherent.

  "There, there, dear," Benjamin Crane said, smoothing her hair, "try tobe quieter,--you will make yourself ill. Perhaps, boys, you'd better gonow, and come round again to-morrow evening."

  "No, no!" cried Mrs. Crane; "stay longer,--tell me more. Tell meeverything he said or did,--all the time you were gone. Did he know hewas going to die?"

  "Oh, no, Mrs. Crane," Shelby assured her. "It was an accident, you see.The storm was beyond anything you can imagine. The wind was not only icyand cutting, but of a sharp viciousness that made it impossible to hearor to see. Almost impossible to walk. We merely struggled blindlyagainst it,--_against_ it, you understand, so that if Peter, who wasbehind, had called out, we could not have heard him."

  "Why was he last?" demanded Mrs. Crane.

  "It happened so," replied Shelby. "I've tried hard to think if we wereto blame for that,--but I cannot see that we were. Whenever we walkedsingle file, we fell into line in any order. The subject never wasmentioned or thought of. And so, that day, Peter was the last one. IfBlair or I had fallen or been overcome by the cold,--which is what weknow must have happened,--we would have been seen by Peter, of course.But when he gave out, no one looked backward."

  "You had been trudging like that long?" asked Crane.

  "Oh, yes, for hours. We were all pretty nearly all in, but Joshuawouldn't let us stop,--dared not, in fact, for he knew the danger ofthat storm far better than we did. No, Mr. Crane, on the part of Blairand myself, I want to say that we had no thought other than ourindividual progress. That was all any one could think of, as Peterhimself would say if he could speak."

  "He has spoken," returned Crane, quietly; "he did say it."

  "What!" exclaimed the two men together.

  "Yes," the older man went on; "I think I will tell you, though I hadhalf decided not to: What do you say, Mother?"

  Mrs. Crane looked up. Her expression of dumb despair gave way to a lookof quiet peace as she said, slowly: "Yes, dear, tell them. But let it beheld confidential."

  "You'll promise that, boys, won't you?" asked Crane, and only halfunderstanding Blair and Shelby promised.

  "Well, it was this way," Crane began, "You know we couldn't get lettersfrom you chaps all the time you were away,--except the few early ones.Of course we knew that before you went, but we didn't realize howlonely we would be without Peter Boots. Whenever he has been away beforewe could hear from him frequently. Julie is a dear girl, but she is abusy little butterfly, and many a time my wife and I are alone of anevening."

  "And we're happy enough together," Mrs. Crane put in, gently; "but beingalone, we naturally talked a great deal of Peter, and--and we couldn'thelp remembering the Gypsy's warning."

  "Oh, I'd forgotten that!" exclaimed Blair. "What was it, now?"

  "A prophecy that Peter would go on a long journey, and would meet with aterrible death. Now, the prophecy is fulfilled." Mrs. Crane's face, asshe gazed upward, her eyes filled with tears, was like that of a seeressor prophetess. She appe
ared exalted, and unconscious of her grief forthe moment.

  "And there was further prophecy," Benjamin Crane continued, "that afterhis death, Peter would return. And when I say he has done so, I expectyou to respect my story and not to doubt its truth."

  "We shall most certainly respect your story, and no one could doubt yourveracity, Mr. Crane," said Shelby, sincerely, though with a mentalreservation that believing in Benjamin Crane's veracity did notnecessarily mean subscribing to his hallucinations.

  Blair's face showed his interest and curiosity, and Benjamin Crane wenton with the tale to a breathlessly absorbed audience.

  "It did come about, I've no doubt, because of our talks of Peter; andalso, because we chanced to hear of some neighbors who had wonderfulsuccess with a Ouija Board."

  A sudden, involuntary exclamation on the part of Blair was immediatelysuppressed by a warning glance from Shelby. It would never do to showscorn of the Ouija Board and all its works in the presence of thisafflicted couple. If any comfort from its use had reached them or couldreach them, it must be a blessing indeed.

  "Yes," Crane said, catching the meaning of the look on Blair's face, "Iknow how you feel about such things, but just reserve judgment until youhear our experiences. We bought a Board, and mother and I tried to useit alone. We had no success at all. It would spell nothingcoherent,--only meaningless jumbles of letters,--or simply refuse tomove. Of course, you understand, we had no thought that our boy was--wasin any danger,--but we had been told that sometimes living personscommunicated by such means. So we persevered, but we never got amessage."

  "Then what happened?" asked Blair, eagerly, seeing from the faces of theolder people that something had.

  "Why then," Mrs. Crane spoke now,--"we found somebody to help us. I'drather not tell the name,--it was a lady----"

  "A medium?" asked Shelby.

  "Oh, no! I mean, not a professional medium,--a lady we've known foryears. She had had some experience with the Board, and she tried it withus. And then,--you tell it, father."

  "Then," said Mr. Crane, speaking very seriously, "then we got a messagefrom Peter. The message said that he had died in the snow."

  "What!" cried Shelby, "incredible! When was this?"

  "In November."

  "Peter died the seventeenth of October."

  "Yes, and it was the tenth of November that we had the message."

  "Just what did it say?" asked Blair, his eyes wide with amazement.

  "It was a little stammering and uncertain, as if hard to get it through.But the Ouija spelled out Peter's name, and when she--Miss--when thelady with us asked if it had a message from Peter, it pointed to 'yes.'Then she tried to get the message. But the words were a little mixed up.There was _snow_ and _ice_ and _storm_ and at last the word _dead_. Whenwe asked if Peter had died in a snowstorm the Board said yes. So, weknew the prophecy was fulfilled at last. The news you brought us wascorroboration, not a surprise."

  Shelby restrained himself by an effort. His sharp glance at Blair madehim keep quiet also. Neither was at all impressed at the story Cranetold them, except to be moved to ridicule. Well they knew how a OuijaBoard will make glib statements as startling as they are untrue.

  But this one happened to be true. Even so, the fact of its relation bysuch means was unbelievable to both the hearers.

  Yet, they could not disturb the faith of the parents of their lost chum.

  "I am glad, for your sakes, that you had a premonitory warning," saidShelby, in all sincerity. "Such things are indeed beyond our ken. Didyou get any further details?"

  "No," said Crane; "but, I learn, you have no further details yourselves.My boy perished in the snowstorm, alone and helpless. What more is thereto know?"

  "Nothing that we could tell," spoke up Blair, a little excitedly, "butsurely, the spirit of Peter,--if it was he speaking to you,--could havetold more!"

  "It is clear you have had no experience in these matters," Crane said,mildly; "the messages are not easy to get, nor are they concise andclear, like a telegram. Only occasionally does one get through, and thenif it is informative we are duly grateful,--and not dissatisfied andclamoring for more."

  "I beg your pardon, Mr. Crane; I am inexperienced, but I assure you I amnot a scoffer. And of course, I believe your statements."

  "Of course!" exclaimed Mrs. Crane, a little crisply. "Surely we wouldnot invent such a story!"

  "No, indeed," said Shelby. "It is strange, you must admit. Have you hadany further communications from Peter?"

  "A few," Mr. Crane spoke a bit reluctantly, for he could see that themen were receptive from a motive of politeness, and not with sympatheticinterest. "He has sent other messages, but they would not, I fear,convince you."

  "Now, don't blame us, Mr. Crane," Blair broke out, impetuously;"remember, we're just from the place where we left Peter,--remember, welove him, too,--and remember, if we could be convinced that he hadspoken we would be as interested as you are."

  "Well put, my boy," and Crane seemed greatly mollified. "Now, merely asan admission of facts, do you believe that the Ouija Board gave themessages exactly as I have detailed the proceedings to you?"

  "I do," said Blair, "that is, I believe you have told the exact truth ofwhat you observed."

  "Then, can you refuse to believe that the message came from the spiritof my dead boy? Who else knew of his death? How could any one know ofit?"

  "True enough," and Blair shook his head, noncommittally.

  Crane sighed. "You don't believe," he said, but without annoyance."Yet, remember, greater minds and wiser brains than yours believe. Arenot you a little presumptuous to set your opinion against theirs?"

  "I don't mean to be presumptuous, Mr. Crane," Blair spoke decidedly,"but I do think my opinion on this subject as good as any man's."

  "Then you are condemning the matter, unheard, which you will allow isnot strictly just."

  "Come, come, Blair," said Shelby, distressed at his attitude, "don'tdiscuss things of which you know nothing. Mr. Crane has gone deeply intothe subject and must know more about it than we do." He gave Blair apositive glance of reproof, and tried to make him see that he must stopcombating their host's theories, if only for reasons of commonpoliteness.

  "But I'm interested," persisted Blair. "If Peter came here and told hisfather he was dead,-- I want to look into these things. You see, it'sthe first time I've ever been up against a real case of this sort. Ownup, Shelby, it's all mighty queer."

  Benjamin Crane looked kindly at Blair. "That's the talk, my boy. Ifyou're really interested, come round some night, and with you here,Peter may talk through, all the better."

  "Rubbish!" Shelby thought, silently, but aloud, he only said:

  "Yes, Blair, do that. And drop the subject for the present. Is Julie athome, Mrs. Crane?"

  "No; she's away for a few days. Poor child, she will be heartbroken. Sheadored Peter Boots," and Mrs. Crane again gave way to tears.

  "What does Julie think about the messages?" asked Blair, thoughtfully.

  "We didn't tell her," said Crane. "She's so emotional, and--well, ofcourse, we couldn't help hoping that it mightn't be true. And, too,Julie hates all talk of spiritism."

  "Sensible girl!" thought Shelby, as Mrs. Crane was saying:

  "But Julie went to Sir Rowland's lectures and she was deeplyinterested."

  "Lectures?" asked Blair.

  "Yes; there have been a great many this season. I'm sorry you had tomiss them. They're over now. But I can't see how any one could listen tothat delightful man talk on such subjects in his beautiful way and notbe convinced of the truth of it all."

  "What did he say?" asked Shelby.

  "That's too big a question to be answered in a sentence," and Cranesmiled a little, "but he gave us incontrovertible proof that the spiritsof the dead return and communicate with their friends who are still onearth."

  "Through a Ouija Board?" Blair inquired.

  "Yes; and by actual manifestation as well. I've never consulted a realmedium
, but now that I know Peter is gone, I shall do so."

  "Don't!" Shelby said, quite involuntarily. Then, seeing the look inCrane's eyes, he added: "Forgive me, sir, I have no right to advise. ButI've been told that all professional mediums are frauds."

  "We are told many things,--both for and against," returned Crane, "butif Sir Rowland is willing to consult them, and believes in them, I'mready to sail under his flag."

  "Of course. And you've a perfect right to do so." Shelby felt hecouldn't control his real opinions much longer, and wanted to go. "May Icome to see you again, soon,--and talk over the matters of Peter'sthings,--which, of course, we brought home? And, I'd like to see Julie."

  "She'll be home by to-morrow evening. Of course, we'll send for her. AndI know she'll want to see you both. Perhaps not just at first, but aftera few days. Please come to the house whenever you will,--just as youused to do."

  "Yes, do," added Mrs. Crane, her lip quivering at the remembrance of theold days when the boys were jolly together.

  "And Miss Harper, how is she?" asked Blair, who had been longing to putthe question for some time.

  "Well, as usual," replied Mrs. Crane. "She was here last night. She----"

  "She's a dear girl," Crane interrupted his wife, and a peculiar lookcrossed his face. "You come round soon again, boys, but I fear we mustlet you go now. My wife is keeping up bravely, but----" he glanced atthe little woman tenderly, and took her hand in his. "And I, too, don'tfeel like talking more now. So good-night,--and, thank you for all yourgood comradeship with my boy,--my Peter Boots."

  "We want sympathy, too, Mr. Crane," said Blair; "Peter was very dear tous both. We're not given to spilling over, but we have lost a dearfriend and chum whose place can never be filled by another."

  "Right!" said Shelby, in a choked voice, and his handclasp with Peter'sfather said the rest.

  But once on the street his exasperation broke forth in words. "I canstand any sort of idiots," he said, "except spook idiots! They make mewant to go back to the Labrador!"

  "Sort of queer, though, that message,--from Peter----"

  "From Peter--nothing! Don't desecrate that boy's memory by even animplication that he'd fiddle with a Ouija Board! Ugh!"

  "How do you explain it, then?"

  "There's nothing to explain."

  "You think Crane,--er--misstated?"

  "Oh, I think he thought he had a message,--but he was duped. They allare. I know all about that Sir Rowland. I've read his books. He's dottyon the subject. Keep off the rocks, Blair. You've a leaning that way,and if you don't look out you'll fall for it, too."

  "Wonder why Mr. Crane shut his wife up when she started to say somethingabout Carly Harper."

  "Oh, that was nothing particular. Anyway, you can see Carly foryourself. I expect she'll be hard hit by Peter's death. They werepractically engaged."

  "How'd you know?"

  "Peter told me,--not in words, bless his heart! He just let it out whenhe was in a babbling mood. I mean, he let fall side remarks, and I justgathered the truth. I didn't tell him I knew. Open-hearted as he was,Peter was reserved in some ways."

  "Dear old chap, so he was. Our great work will never materialize now.Unless I write it alone. I'd like to do that,--and publish it over bothour names, and explain in a preface."

  "Do," said Shelby; "it would please the old people a lot."