NEW ARRIVALS
The soft and balsam-scented air of summer fluttered the white curtains
of Alice Cramer’s house as she sat before the open doorway awaiting,
with no little anxiety, the arrival of her fashionable sister-in-law
from San Francisco.
And when her practised eye saw the carriage, a mere speck against the
sky, coming across the prairie, her heart throbbed with the dread of
meeting and she looked about her mean little apartments with a sense of
embarrassment. What had come over her, that she should have lost the
self-possession and ease of manner inherent in her, and become timid and
awkward as the most illiterate of her neighbors?
“I have been so long out of the world I am no longer myself,” she
murmured, “and yet—and yet it is not wholly that. I seem to be living in
a state of chronic fear. If only her coming will free me from those
other visitors.”
With a choking sensation in her throat, and trembling in her limbs, she
arose as the carriage turned from the highway toward the house. She took
in with a glance the blonde-haired, blue-eyed sister, the curled,
elaborately-dressed child, and then her eyes rested upon the most
beautiful face she had ever seen, it seemed to her. A face so commanding
and bright, so impellingly attractive, she gazed at it in joyous wonder.
Mark lifted them down from the carriage, one by one, and presented them
to her, and the tears started in her eyes as Elinor kissed her fondly,
called her sister Alice, and appeared to overlook the shabby apartments
which had so distressed the housewife a few minutes before.
The little boy bounded and capered in the joy of freedom as he looked at
the boundless prairie, and Tibby Waring’s eyes glowed with tender
moistness as she feasted upon the beauty of the expanse before her.
“Oh, Mrs. Wylie, how lovely it is to breathe freely again,” she murmured
as, after removing her wraps with the dust and stain of travel, she
stood, later in the day, outside the cabin door and watched the red sun
touch the prairie’s distant rim.
“Yes, Tibby, you will be a child again with all these country wilds
about you. You will have chickens, cows, and horses to your heart’s
content. Mark, do you remember how we youngsters used to go out to
grandpa’s?”
“Indeed I do. I remember how you tried to walk a log across Willow brook
and fell in.”
“And I remember when grandpa whipped you for taking eggs from under his
sitting hen.”
“Because a little girl about your size—you haven’t grown much—told me to
do it.”
“Yes, and I ran and hid in the dry-house and fell asleep there. What a
time they had finding me.” And Elinor laughed at the recollection.
“’Twas old Tige that found you. We never could understand how he opened
the dry-house door,” responded Mark.
“Ah, those happy, happy days,” sighed Elinor. “Look yonder, Tibby, what
a lovely group of ponies.”
“They are coming this way. May I go to meet them, Mr. Cramer?” And
Tibby, with Robbie at her heels, swiftly went across the crisp, dry turf
toward the approaching horses.
“Is it safe for her, Mark?” asked Elinor, looking anxiously after her
protege.
“Yes, come on, we will follow them.”
“How lovely they are, Mr. Cramer. Are they all gentle? May I go near
them?” asked Tibby as the twain approached her.
“If you are not afraid, select one for your own use,” Mark replied.
Tibby went nearer and surveyed them for a moment.
“I like that roan the best, though he looks a trifle wicked,” she said,
pointing to one a little distance from the herd.
“Ah, that is Tempest. He is a little wild. Better choose again.”
The horse lifted his ears and struck the ground with his fore-foot
challengingly, as Tibby slowly went toward him. Mark expected to hear
him snort viciously and take to his heels as she neared him, but to his
surprise the horse kept his position.
Then, as Tibby spoke to him, he backed a little, and again struck the
ground with his foot.
“Soh! Good fellow, good fellow! Come here!” Tibby paused, and holding
out her hand beckoned the animal toward her. Then they stood looking at
one another steadily. Finally the roan took a few steps forward,
striking the ground, and seeming to question her right to command him.
“Come here, I tell you!” said Tibby imperiously, again, and to the
surprise of all the horse once more took a few steps nearer her.
Haltingly it walked toward her, nearer, its eyes fixed on the girl and
her outstretched hand. A few more steps and it was within reach, and
Tibby’s hand was upon its nose and she had conquered.
“Well, I’m astonished at that!” exclaimed Mark. “He’s the Devil’s own,
usually. He must have an eye for beauty, the rascal.”
Tibby stood and stroked the animal’s nose, whispering to him as she did
so, and feeding him grass which she pulled from the ground.
“You are not afraid, Tempest. You must always come when I call you. Soh!
Good Tempest; come, sir, come! I’ll show you to the mistress.” And Tibby
turned toward the house, the horse following the hand touching his nose.
“Why, if that girl ain’t leading Tempest!” Alice exclaimed. “He’s the
wildest colt of the lot. Even Mark hasn’t been able to do much with him,
he’s so vixenish. And without a bridle! How did she manage it?”
“She can manage almost anything,” laughed Mrs. Wylie. “I sometimes think
she manages all of us. I don’t know how we should get along without
her.”
“Where did you find her?”
“In a country place not far from Forest City. I took her for a nurse
girl for Robbie, but as I wrote you, I’ve made a companion and daughter
of her. She is invaluable in any capacity. The only trouble I have is
keeping the young men from running off with her. She attracts a great
deal of attention wherever we are stopping, and woe be it to any young
woman who purposely ignores her. She makes her a wall-flower from that
time on, and draws away every young man who would pay the offending one
any attention.”
“But how can she do it? Of course she is remarkably handsome, but that
does not always—”
“The goodness knows! It’s her own secret. Sometimes I think it is her
compelling eyes that bring every one to her upon whom she casts them.
Haven’t you noticed that quality in them?”
“They are wonderfully bright, and—electrical,” replied Alice.
“Electrical? Yes, that is the word. Aren’t they? I can sound Tibby’s
praises by day and night. One feels them ever when not looking at her.”
“Well,” said Mrs. Cramer, “we have very few young men here. None of much
account, except Donald Bartram. He is nice, and entirely eligible, so
you need not fear him. The girl is remarkably attractive.”
Tibby Waring had indeed become an important element in Mr. Wylie’s
household. Every one liked her, from Robbie, who was restless and uneasy
in her absence, to Grandma Wylie, who, when she made her annual visits,
insisted that Tibby was better than a doctor to relieve her aches and
rheumatic pains. And Mr. and Mrs. Wylie found need of her on all
occasions.
From the position of servant she had become a daughter of the house. Her
ready wit and imperturbably good humor made her a welcome adjunct in the
parlor, and if some of Mrs. Wylie’s society friends sneered and
complained of her when by themselves for her presumption in forcing an
unknown girl upon them, they were careful not to shadow forth any
dislike in her presence. Latterly, when traveling, Mrs. Wylie had
introduced her as a foster-daughter, and thus Tibby was saved any
affronts.
Alice Cramer was never weary of watching both Tibby and her
sister-in-law and feasting upon the brightness and freshness of their
apparel, with the many little accessories of fashion which, of late,
were unknown to her. And Mrs. Wylie herself was like a wild bird set at
liberty. She sang and rode with Tibby and Mark over the plains, her
fluffy blonde hair blowing in the wind, and her pink and white
complexion, which no wind could mar, only took on a richer tinge, more
healthful and attractive. But she became alarmed at the peculiarities
which she observed in Alice.
One day, while galloping over the soft turf, she questioned her brother.
“Mark, is Alice entirely sane?”
“Sane, Nellie! What do you mean?”
“Why, she acts so strangely at times. She sits and looks back over her
shoulder in such a startled way, and early this morning, after you had
gone out, I heard some one cry out in her room and I ran in there to see
what was the matter. She was sitting up in bed and brushing the wall
about her with a broom. Her face was red, her eyes bright, and she kept
saying, ‘Get away with you, you little imps!’
“‘Why, Alice,’ I cried, ‘what ails you?’ She dropped her broom and
looked embarrassed when she saw me, and said imploringly, ‘I can’t help
it, Nellie! Don’t blame me, I can see such horrible crawling things on
the walls. There are all manner of creatures, some on two legs and some
on four or more, and they grin and chatter in such a fiendish way I have
to fight them.’ And she began to sob. I told her it was only her
imagination from disordered nerves, and she ought to have a doctor. But
she assured me she was well, physically. One can see, however, from her
thinness and pallor that such is not the case.”
Mark’s face grew dark and he shut his teeth hard.
“Nellie, it all comes from the evil machinations of one man who has been
coming here to the house; a spirit-medium, he calls himself, but I
imagine him an agent for Satan. He holds seances, and has given Alice
books to read until she is filled with his theories. She has been alone
too much since mother went home, and has become melancholy and nervous.
I am very glad you are with us. Try to keep her cheerful and her mind
off those things as much as possible. I need help.”
Mrs. Wylie sighed.
“Ah, I know what it is, Mark. Horace has been interested in this
subject, and I have seen more of it than I enjoy. Horace’s sister in
Oakland is a believer and gives up her house to seances and meetings of
that sort.”
“Indeed, I am surprised that so solid a man as Mr. Wylie should give ear
to such nonsense.”
“But, Mark, you can’t say it is all nonsense. There are very many bright
people who believe in it, though they are perhaps the exceptions; but
there is certainly something supernatural about it.”
“No, Nellie, I do not think it is supernatural. It is only because we do
not understand Nature’s laws and forces that we thus designate the
phenomena produced. I really believe the time will come when every
phenomenon adduced will be explained from natural hypothesis. Much of it
can be now. I am not sure but all of it can.”
“I have a friend, Mark, a very sweet young woman, who I am sure would
not stoop to deceit, who can do many wonderful things. She can write
messages from the spirit world, is clairvoyant, and can, if an article
is placed in her hand, describe the owner, his surroundings, etc. I have
recently heard that she has developed as a materializing medium.”
“But, my dear, she may be ever so honest and be self-deceived. Those
things do not prove the agency of any disembodied spirit. We all have
more or less of the psychometric power, no doubt, which, although we
cannot account for it, is no more wonderful than the electric current
and many other forces of Nature. There certainly seems to be a force
which connects individuals and forms a medium for thought transference.
The Hindoos understand this much better than we do, hence the mysteries
of their conjuring tricks. They must make use of this psychic force of
which we are but dimly conscious. Possibly we may, in the future, learn
to control it as we do now the lightning. But there is no spirit agency
in it.”
“The most mysterious to me is the slate-writing,” said Mrs. Wylie. “My
friend does that also. I have seen instances where there seemed to be
absolutely no opportunities for fraud.”
“We may have belief in the power of mind over matter. I have thought
much over this and am willing to admit that the spirit of man may even
act upon matter to produce this slate-writing, but I believe it is the
medium’s spirit rather than any other. If the disembodied spirit is
supposed to do this, why not the spirit or intelligence of the medium
also? All things considered, I prefer to believe the medium responsible.
Of course, in many cases it is probably only a trick or sleight of hand,
in substituting one slate for another; but I think I have seen cases
myself where such explanation could not be given.
“But this hypnotic force which can make a subject do, believe, assume
personalities and see whatever is suggested to him is a wonderful force
and I know not what its limits are. It may account for the supposed
slate-writing. The Oriental can produce phenomena beyond anything known
here, and yet, as I understand, he does not pretend that his power comes
from the spirits of departed friends. As for mind over matter, the
planchette is certainly governed by the intelligence of the operator or
manipulator.”
“If,” said Mrs. Wylie, “one mind may influence another, now annihilating
time and space, why may not the mind or spirit of the dead so act after
it is separated from the body?”
“I do not deny that such a thing is possible. I am not prepared to state
absolutely that such things are impossible, but I have never had any
proof sufficient to convince me that they were at all _probable_, and I
don’t believe that spirits have anything to do with all this table
rapping, etc., which really amounts to nothing. You will find that all
written answers to questions, even in slate-writing, tell only that
which is known to some one in the room. If a question is asked which
demands an unknown answer the so-called spirit either refuses to speak
or the answer is so ambiguous as to admit of several interpretations.
Really I have never seen one such communication that even stated a fact
clearly. They usually deal in generalities.”
“That is true. I’ve often told Horace that they could get along all
right until some question was asked which the mind-reader could not find
out about, and then they fail. I have heard that only inferior spirits
are capable of producing psychical phenomena.”
“So we have the Indian children and big medicine-men to instruct us so
much. Strange that people should pin their faith to the utterances of
spirits of those with whom they would not associate were they living
upon earth.”
“After all, it’s the making a religion of it that I object to,” said
Mrs. Wylie, “and letting these communications, wherever evolved, control
one’s morals and living.”
“Did you ever know a person made better by giving up his religion and
substituting spiritism?”
“No, that is it. I have often told Horace that the doctrine tended to
demoralization; but he will not listen to me. Of course there is much
that is wrong in the followers of any religion, but this seems
especially lowering in its tendency, so far as I have observed.”
“Well, you can see what it has done for my poor Alice. And her sister
Lissa is nearly insane from it. It will unbalance the mind if not the
moral nature.”
“I suspect you will not be willing to go and hear Mrs. Lucien when she
comes to C—— upon her Western tour. I care nothing for the exhibition in
itself, but am a little anxious to know how she has developed. I have
not seen her since she first began to try her mystic powers, as we went
to the Pacific coast soon afterwards.”
“O, yes, I am willing to see your friend. I am not so intolerant as
that. She may, as I said, be sincere and self-deceived. Such a condition
might be possible. However, it is quite as likely you are deceived in
her. By the way, you have a remarkable maid—this Tibby. She is extremely
pretty and has wonderful eyes.
“Ah, you are stricken with a shaft from those eyes. I don’t wonder at
it. Tibby has been with me ever since she was fourteen, and I have heard
that remark over and over again from each one to whom I have introduced
her.”
“I could believe she practises hypnotism, though perhaps unconsciously.”
“Ah, I have frequently suggested as much to Horace, but he says it is
her beauty. She certainly can do what she wishes with any one. The young
men at the summer hotels where we stop swarm about her like bees about a
honey jar, but she does not seem to care for them. Sometimes she plays
the most absurd tricks upon them. One evening, when we were at the
Metropolitan, a young man called whom I had especially recommended to
Tibby. I left them in the parlor and stepped out upon the veranda.
Shortly, Miss Tibby followed me, her eyes dancing with mischief. ‘Where
is Mr. Bevington,’ I asked. ‘In the parlor, asleep,’ she said demurely.
I went in, and sure enough, there the fellow sat in an easy chair, sound
asleep, his jaw dropped, and looking anything but picturesque and
charming. Tibby stood by me, looking wickedly at him.
“‘There, you see how gentlemanly your fine young man is,’ she said. ‘I
must be interesting company. Don’t you pity me? Shall I cover him with a
shawl and let him sleep?’ I shook my head at her. ‘Better waken him.’
“‘Mr. Bevington, we’ll excuse you if you would rather sleep at home,’
she said. I wish you could have witnessed his confusion when he awoke,
as he did immediately upon Tibby’s addressing him. I really pitied the
poor fellow. He muttered, of course, something about late hours, etc.,
but I am satisfied Tibby had something to do with his sleeping. She has,
when she chooses, a very soothing influence over one.”
“So I perceive. I saw an instance of her mesmeric power yesterday. She
wanted to go and ride upon Tempest (by the way, there is a proof of her
strength. Tempest was the worst horse on the ranch) and Robbie insisted
upon her staying with him. She sat down upon the horse-block and looked
at the child until he came to her as if she had been leading him by a
rope.
“‘I think you may as well sleep while I am gone,’ she said, ‘to keep you
out of mischief.’ To my surprise the little fellow dropped down by the
side of the block and appeared to be asleep in a minute. He slept until
she returned from her ride, when she awakened him, and they both came in
together.”
“You don’t think there is any harm in it? It will not hurt Robbie?”
asked Mrs. Wylie anxiously. “I have learned to rely upon her so
completely.”
“Perhaps not, though I have heard that it weakens the will to be
frequently mesmerized. But we’ll hope she does not abuse her power.”
“Really, Mark, I believe I obey Tibby myself. We have never disagreed
upon anything yet, that I did not yield, I am sure. And when I have a
headache she can sooth it away with her touch.”
“Tibby has a very positive character. I fancy Donald is interested in
her already.”
“Donald! Why, I thought they told me he was fond of Esther McCleary.”
Mark smiled.
“I do not know—possibly. Meanwhile, have I your permission to talk with
your protege on the subject of mesmeric influences?”
“Most assuredly, or upon any other subject. But really, Mark, isn’t
there something uncanny about a person possessed of such power?”
Again Mark smiled.
“You are possessed of the intolerance of our forefathers. You would not
suffer a witch to live.”
“Well, it does seem as if such a person had a familiar spirit. We are
commanded to abhor such, and in olden time they were put to death, it is
true.”
“I do not class hypnotists with spirit-mediums,” Mark replied. “And I
have an idea with regard to Tibby which may be useful. She should be
able to exorcise other evil influences, as did the priests of old. I’d
like to pit her against Russell.”
“Russell? O, yes, he’s the man to whom you ascribe Alice’s perversion of
mind. Well, I wish she might be able to. I wish she might.”