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 comforted her crushed and breaking heart. Shelby and Blair instinctively turned aside from the pitiful scene and waited to be again addressed.
At length Mrs. Crane turned her tear-stained face to them. Not so calm as her husband, she begged for details, then she wept and sobbed so hysterically she could scarcely hear them. Her thoughts flew back to the years when Peter was a lad, a child, a baby, – and her talk of him became almost incoherent.
"There, there, dear," Benjamin Crane said, smoothing her hair, "try to be quieter, – you will make yourself ill. Perhaps, boys, you'd better go now, and come round again to-morrow evening."
"No, no!" cried Mrs. Crane; "stay longer, – tell me more. Tell me everything he said or did, – all the time you were gone. Did he know he was 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 icy and cutting, but of a sharp viciousness that made it impossible to hear or to see. Almost impossible to walk. We merely struggled blindly against it, —against it, you understand, so that if Peter, who was behind, 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 were to blame for that, – but I cannot see that we were. Whenever we walked single file, we fell into line in any order. The subject never was mentioned or thought of. And so, that day, Peter was the last one. If Blair or I had fallen or been overcome by the cold, – which is what we know 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 Joshua wouldn't let us stop, – dared not, in fact, for he knew the danger of that storm far better than we did. No, Mr. Crane, on the part of Blair and myself, I want to say that we had no thought other than our individual progress. That was all any one could think of, as Peter himself 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 had half decided not to: What do you say, Mother?"
Mrs. Crane looked up. Her expression of dumb despair gave way to a look of quiet peace as she said, slowly: "Yes, dear, tell them. But let it be held confidential."
"You'll promise that, boys, won't you?" asked Crane, and only half understanding Blair and Shelby promised.
"Well, it was this way," Crane began, "You know we couldn't get letters from 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 how lonely we would be without Peter Boots. Whenever he has been away before we could hear from him frequently. Julie is a dear girl, but she is a busy little butterfly, and many a time my wife and I are alone of an evening."
"And we're happy enough together," Mrs. Crane put in, gently; "but being alone, we naturally talked a great deal of Peter, and – and we couldn't help 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 a terrible death. Now, the prophecy is fulfilled." Mrs. Crane's face, as she gazed upward, her eyes filled with tears, was like that of a seeress or prophetess. She appeared exalted, and unconscious of her grief for the moment.
"And there was further prophecy," Benjamin Crane continued, "that after his death, Peter would return. And when I say he has done so, I expect you to respect my story and not to doubt its truth."
"We shall most certainly respect your story, and no one could doubt your veracity, Mr. Crane," said Shelby, sincerely, though with a mental reservation that believing in Benjamin Crane's veracity did not necessarily mean subscribing to his hallucinations.
Blair's face showed his interest and curiosity, and Benjamin Crane went on with the tale to a breathlessly absorbed audience.
"It did come about, I've no doubt, because of our talks of Peter; and also, because we chanced to hear of some neighbors who had wonderful success with a Ouija Board."
A sudden, involuntary exclamation on the part of Blair was immediately suppressed by a warning glance from Shelby. It would never do to show scorn of the Ouija Board and all its works in the presence of this afflicted couple. If any comfort from its use had reached them or could reach them, it must be a blessing indeed.
"Yes," Crane said, catching the meaning of the look on Blair's face, "I know how you feel about such things, but just reserve judgment until you hear our experiences. We bought a Board, and mother and I tried to use it alone. We had no success at all. It would spell nothing coherent, – only meaningless jumbles of letters, – or simply refuse to move. Of course, you understand, we had no thought that our boy was – was in any danger, – but we had been told that sometimes living persons communicated by such means. So we persevered, but we never got a message."
"Then what happened?" asked Blair, eagerly, seeing from the faces of the older people that something had.
"Why then," Mrs. Crane spoke now, – "we found somebody to help us. I'd rather 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 for years. She had had some experience with the Board, and she tried it with us. And then, – you tell it, father."
"Then," said Mr. Crane, speaking very seriously, "then we got a message from 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 the lady 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. When we asked if Peter had died in a snowstorm the Board said yes. So, we knew the prophecy was fulfilled at last. The news you brought us was corroboration, not a surprise."
Shelby restrained himself by an effort. His sharp glance at Blair made him keep quiet also. Neither was at all impressed at the story Crane told them, except to be moved to ridicule. Well they knew how a Ouija Board will make glib statements as startling as they are untrue.
But this one happened to be true. Even so, the fact of its relation by such 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," said Shelby, in all sincerity. "Such things are indeed beyond our ken. Did you 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 there to know?"
"Nothing that we could tell," spoke up Blair, a little excitedly, "but surely, the spirit of Peter, – if it was he speaking to you, – could have told 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 and clear, like a telegram. Only occasionally does one get through, and then if it is informative we are duly grateful, – and not dissatisfied and clamoring for more."
"I beg your pardon, Mr.