She hesitated for a moment to dart a glance at him as swift as an arrow. Then she risked it. "A girl."
He drew a long breath. "I don't quite understand."
"It certainly is a little girl, and she's with the lady with the gray hair. But wait a minute. Now I get a little boy, and he's crying."
"Where is he?" came eagerly from Payson's lips.
"He's on this side. He's alive. I'll ask my guide." She plunged into another stupor, then shook herself, rubbed her forehead, wrung her hands.
"I can't get it quite strong enough to-day, but I'll find out later. He seems to be mixed up with you, some way, not in what you might call business, but more personally. You're worried about him."
Mr. Payson, with a shrug of his shoulders, appeared to disclaim this.
"Yes, you are! You may not realize it, but you are. The time will come when you understand what I mean. Now you're too much interested in other things. Your mind is way off—toward New York, like, or in that direction."
He looked puzzled.
"Maybe it ain't as far as New York, but it's somewhere around there, and I see books and printing presses. Do you have anything to do with printing?"