"When I have verified every word of the evidence by Willem's mother——"
Here the Rev. Mr. Batholommey smiled behind his hand in a decidedly secular way.
"——I shall send in my report," continued the doctor. "Would you have any objection to the name of Mrs. Batholommey being used as a witness?"
Mr. Batholommey hesitated. His usually placid eyes were full of perplexity.
"Well—Doctor—I—I——"
But Mrs. Batholommey, unlike her temporising husband, did not hesitate. She rushed into the conversation all unasked.
"Oh, no, you don't!" she cried. "You may flout our beliefs,—but wouldn't you like to bolster up your report with an endorsement by the wife of a clergyman! It sounds so respectable and sane, doesn't it? No, sir! You can't prop up your wild-eyed theories against the good black of one minister's coat. Not by any means! I think myself that you have probably stumbled on the truth about Willem's mother; but that doesn't prove there's anything in all your notions, for that child knew the truth all along. He's eight years old and he was with her until he was five;—and five's the age of memory. He's a precocious boy, besides. Every incident of his mother's life lingered in his little mind. Suppose you prove by her that it's all true?—Still, Willem remembered! And that's all there is to it."
Confident that she had made a good point, Mrs. Batholommey gave her head a toss and left the field, or to be more exact, went out to get her husband's umbrella.
Mr. Batholommey felt that after this display of colours on the part of his consort, he must needs testify also.
"Don't you think, Doctor,—(mind, I'm not opposing your ideas. I'm just echoing just what everybody else thinks)—don't you believe these ideas are leading away from the heaven we were taught to believe in; that they tend toward irresponsibility—toward eccentricity? Is it healthy—that's the idea. Is it—healthy?"