emed as if the stoker with his
bare hand had taken a bit of burning wood from his pocket. He held it
close to the ground, to illuminate a round opening, something like the
burrow of a marmot or a rabbit.

"_Legno santo_," said Peter Schmidt, pointing to the glowing piece of
charcoal. "Now, Frederick, you will get to see those ant-like little
elves that are called _noctiluci_ or night-lights. They pompously call
themselves Toilers of the Light. But whatever their name, it must be
admitted that they are the ones that take the light hidden in the
entrails of the earth, store it up, and sow it in fields, the soil of
which has been especially prepared; and when it has grown to its full
size and has borne fruit a hundredfold in the shape of gold sheaves or
nuggets, they harvest it and save it for the darkest of dark times."

And, actually, looking through a crevice, Frederick saw something like
another world, with a subterranean sun shining on it. A multitude of
little elves, the Toilers of the Light, were mowing with scythes, cutting
stalks, binding sheaves, loading carts, and storing in barns. Many cut
the light out of the ground, like nuggets of gold. Undoubtedly it was the
gold meant for the mint in Washington that was haunting Frederick's
dreams.

"These Toilers of the Light," said the Friesian, Peter Schmidt, "are the
most stimulating to my ideas."

At this point Frederick awoke, while the voice of the stoker close beside
him was saying:

"Many will soon be following me."

XXXIV

The first thing Frederick did on waking was to look at his watch. He had
a dull feeling that he must have slept through the whole night and even
the following day. He peered at the hands incredulously and held the
watch to his ear to convince himself it had not stopped. No, it was still
running. Consequently, since his last waking, only six or, at the utmost,
eight minutes had passed.

This fact as well as the peculiarity and the vividness of his dream set
him to marvelling. He could not recall ever having dreamed so coherently
and logically. Are there dreams that are more than dreams? Was Rasmussen
dead? Had his friend, keeping his promise, chosen this way to make
himself noticeable from the Beyond? A strange shudder went through
Frederick. In his excitement it seemed to him that he had been honoured
with a revelation. He took his memorandum book from the net bag over his
berth and jotted down the date and hour that the remar