"No, to see that you do not run any unnecessary risks," explained Hugh. "Don't you know I'm terribly worried for fear something may happen to you?"
"Rubbish," laughed Crane. "But I'll take you with me. It'll do your nerves good."
An hour later they were on a train
speeding out into the country and
at noon they arrived at their destination—Avondale.
As they alighted from the train they were greeted by a little old colored gentleman who was so aged that he might easily have once been a schoolmate of Diogenes. Despite the fact that the day was somewhat warm, he had a great green scarf around his neck as though it were midwinter. This, with his vivid brown suit and orange waistcoat, gave him a rather grand and glorious appearance. But his horse, which apparently was held up by the shafts of the rickety carriage, presented a strong contrast to him. If the little colored gentleman had been a schoolmate of Diogenes, then without a doubt the horse had once been attached to the chariot of the mighty Cæsar—a very apropos remark, for the little colored hackman went by the illustrious name of John Cæsar. Evidently the horse had always been owned by the same family.
"Hello, Mistuh Crane," said John Cæsar. "Yassuh, it sure is a fine day. Yassuh. Climb in. Yassuh. The Oaks? Yassuh. Feels like summer. Yassuh." Thus the little old colored fellow kept up a train of conversation which could easily have run from New York to Philadelphia.
As Hugh and Randall Crane climbed into the carriage, John Cæsar tried to coax his horse to start. "Giddap there, you lazy, good-fur-nothin' bag o' bones. Yassuh, you sure am a bag of bones. Yassuh, lazy bones. Yassuh, you sure am some horse. Yassuh."
Eventually the horse shook off its lethargy and sauntered down the country road. The gait at which he went would have been very irritating to Hugh if he had not been so extremely interested in the pompous way in which John Caesar sat upon the driver's seat.
"Surely," he chuckled, "Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed more splendidly."
At last the horse stopped and Randall Crane said, "Well, here we are, and once more that trusty charger has completed a trip without dying en route."
Hugh climbed out of the rickety carriage. As he did so he noticed the figure of a girl standing by the entrance gate to the garden, and what was most odd was that she was speaking to him as though she had known him all her life.
"You have been long in coming," she said softly. "I have been waiting for you. But come, it is lunchtime and I will serve tea for three, with toast, marmalade and waffles."
As Hugh heard her speak, he rushed forward and seized her in his arms. He drew her unresisting to him. "You are mine, all mine," he cried tensely. And thus his dream came true.
3
Late that afternoon Hugh said to Randall Crane, "I have two questions to ask you. How did you ever contrive to be such a perfect peddler of dreams?"
Randall Crane smiled slightly. "I have been expecting that question," he said slowly. "Without a doubt you think me somewhat of a conjuror, and yet I assure you that there is nothing in the slightest degree supernatural in what T have done. Psychoanalysts at last have begun to realize the importance of dreams. Many
