open mind. Of course, I'd prefer not to--but
one must be fair. And she's kind, very kind."

Shaking his head sadly, the little man entered the station.

That evening William heard his father say to his mother:

"She came down to meet him at the station to-night. I'm afraid his
doom is sealed. He's no power of resistance, and she's got her eye on
him."

"Who's got her eye on him?" said William with interest.

"Be quiet!" said his father with the brusqueness of the male parent.

But William began to see how things stood. And William liked Mr.
Lambkin.

One evening he saw from his window Mr. Gregorius Lambkin walking with
Miss Gregoria Mush in Miss Gregoria Mush's garden. Mr. Gregorius
Lambkin did not look happy.

William crept down to the hole in the fence and applied his ear to it.

They were sitting on a seat quite close to his hole.

"Gregorius," the President of the Society of Ancient Souls was saying,
"when I found that our names were the same I knew that our destinies
were interwoven."

"Yes," murmured Mr. Lambkin. "It's so kind of you, so kind. But--I'm
afraid I'm overstaying my welcome. I must----"

"No. I must say what is in my heart, Gregorius. You live on the Past,
I live in the Past. We have a common mission--the mission of bringing
to the thoughtless and uninitiated the memory of their former lives.
Gregorius, our work would be more valuable if we could do it together,
if the common destiny that has united our nomenclatures could unite
also our lives."

"It's so _kind_ of you," murmured the writhing victim, "so kind. I am
so unfit, I----"

"No, friend," she said kindly. "I have power enough for both. The
human speech is so poor an agent, is it not?"

A door bell clanged in the house.

"Ah, the Committee of the Ancient Souls. They were coming from town
to-night. Come here to-morrow night at the same time, Gregorius, and I
will tell you what is in my heart. Meet me here--at this
time--to-morrow evening."

William here caught sight of a stray cat at the other end of the
garden. In the character of a cannibal chief he hunted the white man
(otherwise the cat) with blood-curdling war-whoops, but felt no real
interest in the chase. He bound up his scratches mechanically with an
ink-stained handkerchief. Then he went indoors. Robert was conversing
with his friend in the library.

"Well," said the friend, "it's nearly next month. Has she landed him
yet?"

"By Jove!" said Robert. "First of Ap