“I saw the old luny talking to poor little Lambkin to-day,” said Robert, William’s elder brother.

In these terms did Robert refer to the august President of the Society of Ancient Souls.

And the next news Robert brought home was that “poor little Lambkin” had joined the Society of Ancient Souls, but didn’t seem to want to talk about it.  He seemed very vague as to his previous existence, but he said that Miss Gregoria Mush was sure that he had been Julius Caesar.  The knowledge had come to her in a flash when he raised his hat and she saw his bald head.

There was a meeting of the Ancient Souls that evening, and William crept through the hole and up to the dining-room window to watch.  A gorgeous scene met his eye.  Noah conversed agreeably with Cleopatra in the window seat, and by the piano Napoleon discussed the Irish question with Lobengula.  As William watched, his small nose flattened against a corner of the window, Nero and Dante arrived, having shared a taxi from the station.  Miss Gregoria Mush, tall and gaunt and angular, presided in the robes of Mary, Queen of Scots, which was her favourite previous existence.  Then Mr. Gregorius Lambkin arrived.  He looked as unhappy as it is possible for man to look.  He was dressed in a toga and a laurel wreath.  Heat and nervousness had caused his small waxed moustache to droop.  His toga was too long and his laurel wreath was crooked.  Miss Gregoria Mush received him effusively.  She carried him off to a corner seat near the window, and there they conversed, or, to be more accurate, she talked and he listened.  The window was open and William could hear some of the things she said.

“Now you are a member you must come here often ... you and I, the only Ancient Souls in this vicinity ... we will work together and live only in the Past....  Have you remembered any other previous existence?...  No?  Ah, try, it will come in a flash any time....  I must come and see your garden....  I feel that we have much in common, you and I....  We have much to talk about....  I have all my past life to tell you of ... what train do you come home by?...  We must be friends—­real friends....  I’m sure I can help you much in your life as an Ancient Soul....  Our names are almost the same....  Fate in some way unites us....”

And Mr. Lambkin sat, miserable and dejected and yet with a certain pathetic resignation.  For what can one do against Fate?  Then the President caught sight of William and approached the window.

[Illustration:  MR. LAMBKIN SAT, MISERABLE AND DEJECTED, AND YET WITH A CERTAIN PATHETIC RESIGNATION.]

“Go away, boy!” she called.  “You wicked, rude, prying boy, go away!”

Mr. Lambkin shot a wretched and apologetic glance at William, but William pressed his mouth to the open slit of the window.

“All right, Mrs. Jarley’s!” he called, then turned and fled.

William met Mr. Lambkin on his way to the station the next morning.  Mr. Lambkin looked thinner and there were lines of worry on his face.