The Prophecy Recalled
The steamer from Newfoundland that brought Shelby and Blair to New York
arrived during Christmas week.
The two men, however, were far from feeling holiday cheer as they
reached the wharf and faced the hard trial of telling Mr. and Mrs. Crane
of their son's death.
But it had to be done, and they felt it their duty to lose no time in
performing the sad errand.
No one met them at the steamer, for its hour of arrival was uncertain
and they had discouraged their friends from the attempt.
Indeed only telegrams from Newfoundland had apprised any one of their
arrival, for letters would have come by the same boat they came
themselves.
"Let's go straight to the Cranes' and get it over," said Blair; with a
sigh. "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 to
start now. Come ahead."
They sent their luggage to their homes and took a taxi for the Crane
town 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, as
he entered and saw the two. "Where's my boy? Hiding behind the window
curtain?"
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 was
most merciful. "The Labrador got him."
By a strange locution, Labrador, as we call it, is spoken of up there as
The Labrador, and the phrase gives a sinister sound to the name. It
personifies it, and makes it seem like a living menace, a sentient
danger.
"Tell me about it," said Benjamin Crane, and his tense, strained voice
told more of his grief than any outburst could have done.
* * * * *
"Lost in the snow! My little Peter Boots----" he said, after he had
listened in silence to their broken recital. "Tell me more," he urged,
and eagerly drank in any details they could give him of the tragedy and
also of the doings of the party before that last, fatal day.
Blair looked at him in secret amazement. How could the man take it so
calmly? But Shelby, a deeper student of human character, understood how
the fearful shock of tragedy had stunned the loving father-heart. Slowly
and quietly, Shelby related many incidents of the trip, drew word
pictures 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, there
was no way to lessen the poignant sorrow of the last story,--the account
of 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 his
death proved better than protestations that they had done all mortal
effort could do.
"I am not sure, sir," Shelby said, finally, "that we acted wisely, but
it seemed the only course to take. We could not persuade any one to go
for us or with us in search of Peter's body, until March at the
earliest. To go alone, was mere suicide, and though I was tempted to do
even that, rather than to return without him, it would not have been
allowed."
"Oh, I understand perfectly," Crane said, quickly, "I wouldn't have had
you do otherwise than just as you did. There was no use trying the
impossible."
"But we will return in March----" began Blair.
"Perhaps," said Crane, a little preoccupied in manner, "or I will send a
search party myself. There's no reason you boys should go."
This was a real relief, for though more than willing, the two men were
far 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 by
ourselves,--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 to
answer her."
All unconscious of the scene awaiting her, Mrs. Crane came into the
room.
A bewildered look on her sweet, placid face showed her inability to
grasp 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 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. Crane; I am inexperienced, but I assure you I am
not a scoffer. And of course, I believe your statements."
"Of course!" exclaimed Mrs. Crane, a little crisply. "Surely we would
not invent such a story!"
"No, indeed," said Shelby. "It is strange, you must admit. Have you had
any further communications from Peter?"
"A few," Mr. Crane spoke a bit reluctantly, for he could see that the
men were receptive from a motive of politeness, and not with sympathetic
interest. "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, we
love him, too,--and remember, if we could be convinced that he had
spoken we would be as interested as you are."
"Well put, my boy," and Crane seemed greatly mollified. "Now, merely as
an admission of facts, do you believe that the Ouija Board gave the
messages exactly as I have detailed the proceedings to you?"
"I do," said Blair, "that is, I believe you have told the exact truth of
what you observed."
"Then, can you refuse to believe that the message came from the spirit
of my dead boy? Who else knew of his death? How could any one know of
it?"
"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. Are
not 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 is
not strictly just."
"Come, come, Blair," said Shelby, distressed at his attitude, "don't
discuss things of which you know nothing. Mr. Crane has gone deeply into
the subject and must know more about it than we do." He gave Blair a
positive glance of reproof, and tried to make him see that he must stop
combating their host's theories, if only for reasons of common
politeness.
"But I'm interested," persisted Blair. "If Peter came here and told his
father he was dead,-- I want to look into these things. You see, it's
the first time I've ever been up against a real case of this sort. Own
up, Shelby, it's all mighty queer."
Benjamin Crane looked kindly at Blair. "That's the talk, my boy. If
you'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 at
home, Mrs. Crane?"
"No; she's away for a few days. Poor child, she will be heartbroken. She
adored 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, of
course, 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 deeply
interested."
"Lectures?" asked Blair.
"Yes; there have been a great many this season. I'm sorry you had to
miss them. They're over now. But I can't see how any one could listen to
that delightful man talk on such subjects in his beautiful way and not
be 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 Crane
smiled a little, "but he gave us incontrovertible proof that the spirits
of the dead return and communicate with their friends who are still on
earth."
"Through a Ouija Board?" Blair inquired.
"Yes; and by actual manifestation as well. I've never consulted a real
medium, but now that I know Peter is gone, I shall do so."
"Don't!" Shelby said, quite involuntarily. Then, seeing the look in
Crane's eyes, he added: "Forgive me, sir, I have no right to advise. But
I've been told that all professional mediums are frauds."
"We are told many things,--both for and against," returned Crane, "but
if Sir Rowland is willing to consult them, and believes in them, I'm
ready to sail under his flag."
"Of course. And you've a perfect right to do so." Shelby felt he
couldn't control his real opinions much longer, and wanted to go. "May I
come to see you again, soon,--and talk over the matters of Peter's
things,--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. And
I know she'll want to see you both. Perhaps not just at first, but after
a few days. Please come to the house whenever you will,--just as you
used to do."
"Yes, do," added Mrs. Crane, her lip quivering at the remembrance of the
old days when the boys were jolly together.
"And Miss Harper, how is she?" asked Blair, who had been longing to put
the 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 look
crossed his face. "You come round soon again, boys, but I fear we must
let you go now. My wife is keeping up bravely, but----" he glanced at
the little woman tenderly, and took her hand in his. "And I, too, don't
feel like talking more now. So good-night,--and, thank you for all your
good comradeship with my boy,--my Peter Boots."
"We want sympathy, too, Mr. Crane," said Blair; "Peter was very dear to
us both. We're not given to spilling over, but we have lost a dear
friend and chum whose place can never be filled by another."
"Right!" said Shelby, in a choked voice, and his handclasp with Peter's
father said the rest.
But once on the street his exasperation broke forth in words. "I can
stand any sort of idiots," he said, "except spook idiots! They make me
want 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 an
implication 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 all
are. I know all about that Sir Rowland. I've read his books. He's dotty
on 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 something
about Carly Harper."
"Oh, that was nothing particular. Anyway, you can see Carly for
yourself. I expect she'll be hard hit by Peter's death. They were
practically engaged."
"How'd you know?"
"Peter told me,--not in words, bless his heart! He just let it out when
he was in a babbling mood. I mean, he let fall side remarks, and I just
gathered 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 both
our names, and explain in a preface."
"Do," said Shelby; "it would please the old people a lot."