“Why, papa, it is my telegram! How slow it has been!”
“When did you send it?”
“I gave it to Sam Elliott about nine o’clock this morning, and it
wouldn’t be like him to forget it.”
“No, and probably he did not forget it. It only waited at the Bingham
station a few hours to get its breath before starting on a six-mile
walk.”
But he was glad to know she had sent the message. Suddenly she wheeled
about on his knee and inserted her fingers between his collar and his
neck, an old trick of her childhood and still employed when the closest
attention was required. “But how did you know I was coming?”
“I did not.”
“But you sent for me.”
“No, Amos went for you of his own accord.”
“Well, how did he know I was coming?”
Mr. Cabot raised his eyebrows. “I have no idea, unless you sent him
word.”
“Of course I didn’t send him word. What an idea! Why don’t you tell me
how you knew?” and the honest eyes were fixed upon his own in stern
disapproval. He smiled and said it was evidently a mysterious case;
that she must cross-examine the prophet. He then told her of the roses
and of his interview with Amos. She was mystified, and also a little
excited as she recalled the stories of Deacon White, but knowing her
father would only laugh at them, contented herself with exacting the
promise of an immediate explanation from Mr. Judd.
V
Early in the evening the young man appeared. He found Mr. Cabot and
Molly sitting before a cheerful fire, an agreeable contrast to the
howling elements without. She thanked him for the roses, expressing her
admiration for their uncommon beauty.
With a grave salutation he answered, “I told them, one morning, when
they were little buds, that if they surpassed all previous roses there
was a chance of being accepted by the Dispenser of Sunshine who dwells
across the way; and this is the result of their efforts.”
“The results are superb, and I am grateful.”
“There is no question of their beauty,” said Mr. Cabot, “and they
appear to possess a knowledge of coming events that must be of value at
times.”
“It was not from the roses I got my information, sir. But I will tell
you about that now, if you wish.”
“Well, take a cigar and clear up the mystery.”
It seemed a winter’s evening, as the three sat before the fire, the
older man in the centre, the younger people on either side, facing
each other. Mr. Cabot crossed his legs, and laying his magazine face
downward upon his lap, said, “I confess I shall be glad to have the
puzzle solved, as it is a little deep for me except on the theory that
you are skilful liars. Molly I know to be unpractised in that art,
but as for you, Amos, I can only guess what you may conceal under a
truthful exterior.”
Amos smiled. “It is something to look honest, and I am glad you can say
even that.” Then, after a pause, he leaned back in his chair and, in a
voice at first a little constrained, thus began:
“As long ago as I can remember I used to imagine things that were to
happen, all sorts of scenes and events that might possibly occur, as
most children do, I suppose. But these scenes, or imaginings, were of
two kinds: those that required a little effort of my own, and another
kind that came with no effort whatever. These last were the most usual,
and were sometimes of use as they always came true. That is, they never
failed to occur just as I had seen them. While a child this did not
surprise me, as I supposed all the rest of the world were just like
myself.”
At this point Amos looked over toward Molly and added, with a faint
smile, “I know just what your father is thinking. He is regretting that
an otherwise healthy young man should develop such lamentable symptoms.”
“Not at all,” said Mr. Cabot. “It is very interesting. Go on.”
She felt annoyed by her father’s calmness. Here was the most
extraordinary, the most marvellous thing she had ever encountered,
and yet he behaved as if it were a commonplace experience of every-day
life. And he must know that Amos was telling the truth! But Amos
himself showed no signs of annoyance.
“As I grew older and discovered gradually that none of my friends had
this faculty, and that people looked upon it as something uncanny and
supernatural, I learned to keep it to myself. I became almost ashamed
of the peculiarity and tried by disuse to outgrow it, but such a power
is too useful a thing to ignore altogether, and there are times when
the temptation is hard to resist. That was the case this afternoon.
I expected a friend who was to telegraph me if unable to come, and
at half-past two no message had arrived: but being familiar with the
customs of the Daleford office I knew there might be a dozen telegrams
and I get none the wiser. So, not wishing to drive twelve miles for
nothing in such a storm, I yielded to the old temptation and put myself
ahead--in spirit of course--and saw the train as it arrived. You can
imagine my surprise when the first person to get off was Miss Molly
Cabot.”
Her eyes were glowing with excitement. Repressing an exclamation of
wonder, she turned toward her father and was astonished, and gently
indignant, to find him in the placid enjoyment of his cigar, showing no
surprise. Then she asked of Amos, almost in a whisper, for her throat
seemed very dry, “What time was it when you saw this?”
“About half-past two.”
“And the train got in at four.”
“Yes, about four.”
“You saw what occurred on the platform as if you were there in person?”
Mr. Cabot inquired.
“Yes, sir. The conductor helped her out and she started to run into
the station to get out of the rain.”
“Yes, yes!” from Molly.
“But the wind twisted you about and blew you against him. And you both
stuck there for a second.”
She laughed nervously: “Yes, that is just what happened!”
“But I am surprised, Amos,” put in Mr. Cabot, “that you should have
had so little sympathy for a tempest-tossed lady as to fail to observe
there was no carriage.”
“I took it for granted you had sent for her.”
“But you saw there was none at the station.”
“There might have been several and I not see them.”
“Then your vision was limited to a certain spot?”
“Yes, sir, in a way, for I could only see as if I were there in
person, and I did not move around to the other side of the station.”
“Didn’t you take notice as you approached?”
Amos drew a hand up the back of his head and hesitated before
answering. “I closed my eyes at home with a wish to be at the station
as the train came in, and I found myself there without approaching it
from any particular direction.”
“And if you had looked down the road,” Mr. Cabot continued, after a
pause, “you would have seen yourself approaching in a buggy?”
“Yes, probably.”
“And from the buggy you might almost have seen what you have just
described.” This was said so calmly and pleasantly that Molly,
for an instant, did not catch its full meaning; then her eyes, in
disappointment, turned to Amos. She thought there was a flush on the
dark face, and something resembling anger as the eyes turned toward
her father. But Mr. Cabot was watching the smoke as it curled from his
lips. After a very short pause Amos said, quietly, “It had not occurred
to me that my statement could place me in such an unfortunate position.”
“Not at all unfortunate,” and Mr. Cabot raised a hand in protest. “I
know you too well, Amos, to doubt your sincerity. The worst I can
possibly believe is that you yourself are misled: that you are perhaps
attaching a false significance to a series of events that might be
explained in another way.”
Amos arose and stood facing them with his back against the mantel.
“You are much too clever for me, Mr. Cabot. I hardly thought you could
accept this explanation, but I have told you nothing but the truth.”
“My dear boy, do not think for a moment that I doubt your honesty.
Older men than you, and harder-headed ones, have digested more
incredible things. In telling your story you ask me to believe what
I consider impossible. There is no well-authenticated case on record
of such a faculty. It would interfere with the workings of nature.
Future events could not arrange themselves with any confidence in your
vicinity, and all history that is to come, and even the elements, would
be compelled to adjust themselves according to your predictions.”
“But, papa, you yourself had positive evidence that he knew of my
coming two hours before I came. How do you explain that?”
“I do not pretend to explain it, and I will not infuriate Amos by
calling it a good guess, or a startling coincidence.”
Amos smiled. “Oh, call it what you please, Mr. Cabot. But it seems to
me that the fact of these things invariably coming true ought to count
for something, even with the legal mind.”
“You say there has never been a single case in which your prophecy has
failed?”
“Not one.”
“Suppose, just for illustration, that you should look ahead and see
yourself in church next Sunday standing on your head in the aisle, and
suppose you had a serious unwillingness to perform the act. Would you
still go to church and do it?”
“I should go to church and do it.”
“Out of respect for the prophecy?”
“No, because I could not prevent it.”
“Have you often resisted?”
“Not very often, but enough to learn the lesson.”
“And you have always fulfilled the prophecy?”
“Always.”
There was a short silence during which Molly kept her eyes on her work,
while Amos stood silently beside the fire as if there was nothing more
to be said. Finally Mr. Cabot knocked the ashes from his cigar and
asked, with his pleasantest smile, “Do you think if one of these scenes
involved the actions of another person than yourself, that person would
also carry it out?”
“I think so.”
“That if you told me, for instance, of something I should do to-morrow
at twelve o’clock, I should do it?”
“I think so.”
“Well, what am I going to do to-morrow at noon, as the clock strikes
twelve?”
[Illustration: It seemed a long five minutes]
“Give me five minutes,” and with closed eyes and head slightly
inclined, the young man remained leaning against the mantel without
changing his position. It seemed a long five minutes. Outside, the
tempest beat viciously against the windows, then with mocking shrieks
whirled away into the night. To Molly’s excited fancy the echoing
chimney was alive with the mutterings of unearthly voices. Although in
her father’s judgment she placed a perfect trust, there still remained
a lingering faith in this supernatural power, whatever it was; but
she knew it to be a faith her reason might not support. As for Amos,
he was certainly an interesting figure as he stood before them, and
nothing could be easier at such a moment than for an imaginative girl
to invest him with mystic attributes. Although outwardly American so
far as raiment, the cut of his hair, and his own efforts could produce
that impression, he remained, nevertheless, distinctly Oriental. The
dark skin, the long, black, clearly marked eyebrows, the singular
beauty of his features, almost feminine in their refinement, betrayed
a race whose origin and traditions were far removed from his present
surroundings. She was struck by the little scar upon his forehead,
which seemed, of a sudden, to glow and be alive, as if catching some
reflection from the firelight. While her eyes were upon it, the fire
blazed up in a dying effort, and went out; but the little scar remained
a luminous spot with a faint light of its own. She drew her hand across
her brow to brush away the illusion, and as she again looked toward him
he opened his eyes and raised his head. Then he said to her father,
slowly, as if from a desire to make no mistake:
“To-morrow you will be standing in front of the Unitarian Church,
looking up at the clock on the steeple as it strikes twelve. Then you
will walk along by the Common until you are opposite Caleb Farnum’s,
cross the street, and knock at his door. Mrs. Farnum will open it. She
will show you into the parlor, the room on the right, where you will
sit down in a rocking-chair and wait. I left you there, but can tell
you the rest if you choose to give the time.”
Molly glanced at her father and was surprised by his expression.
Bending forward, his eyes fixed upon Amos with a look of the deepest
interest, he made no effort to conceal his astonishment. He leaned back
in the chair, however, and resuming his old attitude, said, quietly:
“That is precisely what I intended to do to-morrow, and at twelve
o’clock, as I knew he would be at home for his dinner. Is it possible
that a wholesome, out-of-doors young chap like you can be something of
a mind-reader and not know it?”
“No, sir. I have no such talent.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely sure. It happens that you already intended to do the thing
mentioned, but that was merely a coincidence.”
For a moment or two there was a silence, during which Mr. Cabot seemed
more interested in the appearance of his cigar than in the previous
conversation. At last he said:
“I understand you to say these scenes, or prophecies, or whatever you
call them, have never failed of coming true. Now, if I wilfully refrain
from calling on Mr. Farnum to-morrow it will have a tendency to prove,
will it not, that your system is fallible?”
“I suppose so.”
“And if you can catch it in several such errors you might in time lose
confidence in it?”
“Very likely, but I think it will never happen. At least, not in such a
way.”
“Just leave that to me,” and Mr. Cabot rose from his seat and stood
beside him in front of the fire. “The only mystery, in my opinion, is
a vivid imagination that sometimes gets the better of your facts; or
rather combines with your facts and gets the better of yourself. These
visions, however real, are such as come not only to hosts of children,
but to many older people who are highstrung and imaginative. As for the
prophetic faculty, don’t let that worry you. It is a bump that has
not sprouted yet on your head, or on any other. Daniel and Elijah are
the only experts of permanent standing in that line, and even their
reputations are not what they used to be.”
Amos smiled and said something about not pretending to compete with
professionals, and the conversation turned to other matters. After
his departure, as they went upstairs, Molly lingered in her father’s
chamber a moment and asked if he really thought Mr. Judd had seen from
his buggy the little incident at the station which he thought had
appeared to him in his vision.
“It seems safe to suppose so,” he answered. “And he could easily be
misled by a little sequence of facts, fancies, and coincidences that
happened to form a harmonious whole.”
“But in other matters he seems so sensible, and he certainly is not
easily deceived.”
“Yes, I know, but those are often the very people who become the
readiest victims. Now Amos, with all his practical common-sense, I
know to be unusually romantic and imaginative. He loves the mystic
and the fabulous. The other day while we were fishing together--thank
you, Maggie does love a fresh place for my slippers every night--the
other day I discovered, from several things he said, that he was an
out-and-out fatalist. But I think we can weaken his faith in all
that. He is too young and healthy and has too free a mind to remain a
permanent dupe.”