“Will you talk every day, you and she?” he asked, presently. “Thank you.”
“Mrs. Gaylord, Frederick is a fine force,” followed immediately, in a more running script, and when I said this must be Mary Kendal, the answer was: “Yes. Tell Manse I love him.... Tell him again.”
“He doesn’t need to be told that,” I assured her, as I had so many times before.
And again she returned: “Yes, he does. There are reasons. Tell him.” I promised to write to him once more, and she continued: “Mrs. Gaylord, Frederick wants you to be sure that he is doing more here than he could there. You should not grieve for that, should you? You have a fearless mind in other things. Trust for that. Good-by.”
“Mother dearest, that was Mrs. Kendal,” Frederick resumed, with his more vigorous movement. “She is a missionary, and a fine force.”
Noticing the repetition of this word, I asked, “You say force, not spirit?”
“No, force is what moves things.”
To his mother’s inquiry about a friend, he replied: “He is here with me, working. Bob’s little girl is here, too.” She told me that a medium visited by his sisters had described him with a little girl, saying that he wanted them to “tell Bob.” [I had heard this from them, also, and the subject recurred later.]
“Yes,” he acquiesced. “Same child.”