“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.”
VI
THE next morning was clear and bright. Mr. Cabot, absorbed in his work, spent nearly the whole forenoon among his papers, and when he saw Molly in her little cart drive up to the door with a seamstress from the village, he knew the day was getting on. Seeing him still at his desk as she entered, she bent over him and put a hand before his eyes. “Oh, crazy man! You have no idea what a day it is, and to waste it over an ink-pot! Why, it is half-past eleven, and I believe you have been here ever since I left. Stop that work this minute and go out of doors.” A cool cheek was laid against his face and the pen removed from his fingers. “Now mind.”