The Ghost Makers

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"I am Little Flower!"

A thin, piping voice was babbling amid the eerie darkness. As the shrill tones ended, a spectral silence prevailed.

"I am Little Flower!"

The repeated cry was like a weird echo of the first ghostly call. Then, when the call was no longer uttered, a low, quavering question came from among the sitters in the darkened circle. "Have you a message for me?"

It was a woman who made the query. Her tone was one that denoted a sincere believer. The listeners waited. The voice of Little Flower broke the gloom.

"I have message from J.H.," it said. "He wish to speak to some one that is here. Some one he cannot see. Someone who love him on the earthly plane. He say he is J.H. He say the one who love him will know—"

"I recognize J.H.," came the woman's voice. "I am the one to whom he would speak. Please, Little Flower, please bring me his message—"

The beseeching voice ended with a choking sob. The woman in the circle could speak no more. She was overcome with emotion.

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