When he woke up he didn't know whether he was a Chinaman who had
dreamed he was a lily or a lily now dreaming he was a Chinaman."
"I like that story, Dick, but you've got too much imagination. The tale
of the death and burial of De Soto has always been so vivid to you that
you just stood there and re-created the scene for yourself."
"Of course that's it," said Pennington, "but why can't a fellow create
things with his mind, when things that don't exist jump right up before
his eyes? I've often seen the mirage, generally about dark, far out on
the western plains. I've seen a beautiful lake and green gardens where
there was nothing but the brown swells rolling on."
"I concede all you say," said Dick readily. "I have flashes sometimes,
and so does Harry Kenton and others I know."
"Flashes! What do you mean?" asked Warner.
"Why, a sort of lightning stroke out of the past. Something that lasts
only a second, but in which you have a share. Boys, one day I saw myself
a Carthaginian soldier following Hannibal over the Alps."
"Maybe," said Pennington, "we have lived other lives on this earth,
and sometimes a faint glimpse of them comes to us.
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