Greatly comforted by the conviction of her son’s continued life and development and devotion, Mrs. Gaylord’s thought was already turning to other bereaved and suffering mothers, and more than once she expressed her desire to share with them her new knowledge, urging me to make preparations for the publication of the messages she was sure Frederick would give us, to which, for personal reasons, I demurred. We asked Frederick whether he thought it should be published, and he replied in the affirmative. After some discussion, leaving me still unconvinced, he resumed his appeal to his mother.
“You will be happy now, won’t you? You can’t be sorry I am so much better off and more useful. I get your thoughts and you get mine, only you don’t recognize them always as mine. You will now.”
“Is there any way I can know when you are with me?” she asked.
“You will learn, now you know I am there. I can’t tell you how, but you will learn. That is part of this big knowledge, dearest. You are both just beginning, but, like other knowledge, growth is rapid, once begun. You will meet skeptics, who will laugh, but don’t be disturbed. This is the next big revelation, and you are with the first over the top.”
“Are you still interested in the war?” she asked, and the reply came with great vigor.
“Yes. How can anybody help that? It is great and hideous and wonderful, and the salvation of the civilized world. Something had to wake the souls of most men. They have been quiet too long. Growth is always struggle. It is hard struggle there, because you don’t see far ahead. We see farther—much farther—and it is easier to climb.”
“Was the war the fault of the Germans, or the result of world conditions?”
“Both. The Germans had long been obsessed by a lust of power, and the rest of the world by a lust of ease and money, and individual interests. There has been real unity of purpose only in Germany.” When she said that this thought of Germany’s unity had been much in her mind of late, he added, quickly, “That was I, Mother dearest, trying to tell you what I could of what I know.”
A long talk on personal topics followed, during which he referred to me as a “messenger,” explaining Mary Kendal’s previous use of the word. By this time, many of the messages were conveyed to my consciousness before the pencil wrote them. Sometimes I had no previous impression of them; sometimes only the meaning reached me, being expressed by the pencil in other phrases; sometimes I knew what the words would be. I mentioned this, with some misgiving, and Frederick dryly remarked: “You are very sensitive for so obstinate a person.”
Referring to his earlier statement about Germany, Cass asked: “What would national unity of purpose lead to? Hasn’t it elements of great danger?”