“I am—a great artist,” wrote the power behind the pen.
“May we know your name?”
“No.”
“What may we call you?”
“Helper.”
“Can we do anything for you?”
“Pray.”
“Will you continue to help us?”
“Yes. Good-bye.”
“Is it not uncanny?” said Josephine. “Do you think I wrote this?—or the artist?—or is it one of the modern discoveries—my subconscious self coming to the surface?”