The answer, in three raps, was, "Yes."
"Can she select the paper containing her name?" I asked.
The answer again was, "Yes."
The medium then took up one of the paper pellets, and put it down; then
took up and put down a second; and then took up a third and handed it to
me.
I was just preparing to undo it, to look for the name, when the medium
reached over as before, and wrote on a leaf of my note paper--
"IT IS MY NAME. ELIZABETH BARKER."
And the moment he had written it, he stretched out his hand, smiling,
and shook hands with me again. Whether it really was so or not, I will
not say, but his smile seemed the smile of my mother, and the expression
of his face was the old expression of my mother's face; and when he
shook hands with me, he drew his hand away in the manner in which my
mother had always drawn away her hand. The tears started into my eyes,
and my flesh seemed to creep on my bones. I felt stranger than ever. I
opened the paper, and it was my mother's name: ELIZABETH BARKER. I asked
a number of questions as before, and received appropriate answers.
But I had seen enough. I felt no desire to multiply experiments. So I
came away--sober, sad, and thoughtful.
I had a particular friend in Philadelphia, an old unbeliever, called
Thomas Illman.
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