ch an awful way off.'

So they did. This time they said, 'The future, where the Amulet is, not
so far away.'

And they went through the familiar arch into a large, light room with
three windows. Facing them was the familiar mummy-case. And at a table
by the window sat the learned gentleman. They knew him at once, though
his hair was white. He was one of the faces that do not change with age.
In his hand was the Amulet--complete and perfect.

He rubbed his other hand across his forehead in the way they were so
used to.

'Dreams, dreams!' he said; 'old age is full of them!'

'You've been in dreams with us before now,' said Robert, 'don't you
remember?'

'I do, indeed,' said he. The room had many more books than the Fitzroy
Street room, and far more curious and wonderful Assyrian and Egyptian
objects. 'The most wonderful dreams I ever had had you in them.'

'Where,' asked Cyril, 'did you get that thing in your hand?'

'If you weren't just a dream,' he answered, smiling, you'd remember that
you gave it to me.'

'But where did we get it?' Cyril asked eagerly.

'Ah, you never would tell me that,' he said, 'You always had your little
mysteries. You dear children! What a difference you made to that old
Bloomsbury house! I wish I could dream you oftener. Now you're grown up
you're not like you used to be.'

'Grown up?' said Anthea.

The learned gentleman pointed to a frame with four photographs in it.

'There you are,' he said.

The children saw four grown-up people's portraits--two ladies, two
gentlemen--and looked on them with loathing.

'Shall we grow up like THAT?' whispered Jane. 'How perfectly horrid!'

'If we're ever like that, we sha'n't know it's horrid, I expect,' Anthea
with some insight whispered back. 'You see, you get used to yourself
while you're changing. It's--it's being so sudden makes it seem so
frightful now.'

The learned gentleman was looking at them with wistful kindness. 'Don't
let me undream you just yet,' he said. There was a pause.

'Do you remember WHEN we gave you that Amulet?' Cyril asked suddenly.

'You know, or you would if you weren't a dream, that it was on the 3rd
December, 1905. I shall never forget THAT day.'

'Thank you,' said Cyril, earnestly; 'oh, thank you very much.'

'You've got a new room,' said Anthea, looking out of the window, 'and
what a lovely garden!'

'Yes,' said he, 'I'm too old now to care even about being near the
Museum. This is a beautiful place.