and he likes it, because it gives him more power."

Jimbo only stared at her without comprehending. Then his mind jumped to
something else he wanted badly to have explained, and he asked her about
his number, and why he was called No. 102.

"Oh, that's easier," she said, "102 is your number among the Frightened
Children; there are 101 of them, and you are the last arrival. Haven't
you seen them yet? It is also the temperature of your broken little body
lying on the bed in the night nursery at home," she added, though he
hardly caught her words, so low were they spoken.

Jimbo then described how the children had sung and danced to him, and
went on to ask a hundred questions about them. But Miss Lake would give
him very little information, and said he would not have very much to do
with them. Most of them had been in the House for years and years--so
long that they could probably never escape at all.

"They are all frightened children," she said. "Little ones scared out of
their wits by silly people who meant to amuse them with stories, or to
frighten them into being well behaved--nursery-maids, elder sisters, and
even governesses!"

"And they can never escape?"

"Not unless the people who frightened them come to their rescue and _run
the risk of being caught themselves_."

As she spoke there rose from the depths of the house the sound of
muffled voices, children's voices singing faintly together; it rose and
fell exactly like the wind, and with as little tune; it was weird and
magical, but so utterly mournful that the boy felt the tears start to
his eyes. It drifted away, too, just as the wind does over the tops of
the trees, dying into the distance; and all became still again.

"It's just like the wind," he said, "and I do love the wind. It makes me
feel so sad and so happy. Why is it?"

The governess did not answer.

"How old am I _really_?" he went on. "How can I be so old and so
ignorant? I've forgotten such an awful lot of knowledge."

"The fact is--well, perhaps, you won't quite understand--but you're
really two ages at once. Sometimes you feel as old as your body, and
sometimes as old as your soul. You're still connected with your body;
so you get the sensations of both mixed up."

"Then is the body younger than the soul?"

"The soul--that is yourself," she answered, "is, oh, so old, awfully
old, as old as the stars, and older. But the body is no older than
itself--of course, how could it be?"

"O