“It’s all right,” whispered Primmie.  “She ain’t sick nor nothin’.  She’s just a-slippin’ off.”

The banker did not understand.

“Slipping off?” he repeated.  “Off what?”

“Off into sperit land.  In a minute you’ll hear her control talkin’ Chinee talk. . . .  There!  My savin’ soul! hear it? . . .  Ain’t it awful!”

“Little Cherry Blossom” had evidently been waiting at the transmitter.  The husky croak which had so amazed Galusha was again heard.

“How do?  How do, everybodee?” hailed Little Cherry Blossom.  “I gladee see-ee you.  Yes, indeedee.”

Cabot made mental note of the fact that the Blossom spoke her spirit pidgin-English with a marked Down-East accent.  Before he had time to notice more, the control announced that she had a message.  The circle stirred in anticipation.  Primmie wiggled in fearful ecstasy.

“Listen!” commanded Little Cherry Blossom.  “Everybodee harkee.  Spirit comee heree.  He say-ee—­”

“Ow-ooo-ooo—­ooo—­ooo!!”

As prophesied by Mr. Zacheus Bloomer, the fog had come in and Zacheus, faithful to his duties as associate guardian of that section of the coast, had turned loose the great foghorn.

The roar was terrific.  The windows rattled and the whole building seemed to shake.  The effect upon the group in the parlor, leaning forward in awed expectation to catch the message from beyond, was upsetting, literally and figuratively.  Miss Tamson Black, perched upon the slippery cushion of a rickety and unstable music stool, slid to the floor with a most unspiritual thump and a shrill squeal.  Primmie clutched her next-door neighbor—­it chanced to be Mr. Augustus Cabot—­by the middle of the waistcoat, and hers was no light clutch.  Mr. Abel Harding shouted several words at the top of his lungs; afterward there was some dispute as to just what the exact words were, but none whatever as to their lack of propriety.  Almost every one jumped or screamed or exclaimed.  Only Captain Jeth Hallett, who had heard that horn many, many times, was quite unmoved.  Even his daughter was startled.

But perhaps the most surprising effect of the mammoth “toot” was that which it produced in the spirit world.  It seemed to blow Little Cherry Blossom completely back to her own sphere, for it was a voice neither Chinese nor ethereal which, coming from Miss Hoag’s lips, shrieked wildly:  “Oh, my good land of love!  Wh—­what’s that?”

It was only after considerable pounding of the table and repeated orders for silence that Captain Jethro succeeded in obtaining it.  Then he explained concerning the foghorn.

“It’ll blow every minute from now on, I presume likely,” he growled, “but I don’t see as that need to make any difference about our goin’ on with this meetin’.  That is, unless Marietta minds.  Think ‘twill bother you about gettin’ back into the trance state, Marietta?”