es, as a puff of air or a passing breeze; others that they are
unfulfilled desires; still others that they are the impress made by
another soul upon the subliminal part of us, that leaves to our active
senses but imperfectly translatable hieroglyphics. Does that show you
nothing?"

"Well," I temporized, "I can't say it shows me much. How about you,
Tommy?"

"Smell a little smoke, but don't see any bright light yet. Elucidate,
professor!"

He sighed, giving us a look of pity, I thought.

"If I call to a man, and the space is great, my voice may fail before
reaching him. Yet if it hangs its vibrations on a puff of air, a passing
breeze that blows in his direction, he hears me! So does the soul employ
the passing breeze--by which I mean the capricious thing called
dreaming--to enter our consciousness that might not otherwise be
reached. The impossibility is to say which is which--that is, which is
the unfulfilled desire, which is but the capricious passing breeze, and
which is the message from another! If in the dark an uneducated fellow
sits at a piano he might play several lovely chords, yet while they
sounded well there would be no intelligence behind them. Such is the
chance dream! But a master-player could produce a rhapsody, expressing
to one who listened hope, love, desire, warning--everything. Such is the
harmonious blending of soul and soul in sleep! And how can we tell which
is which?"

He paused and gazed out at the water, and I saw in his face the
peculiarly wistful expression that so often accompanies thoughts which
are both elusive and far away. The index finger of his right hand was
slightly raised, indicating a subconscious impulse to point upward.
Slowly turning back to us, he said in a tone of solemnity that lingers
with me even now, a year later, as I write of it:

"In the Psalms we find these merciful words: 'He giveth His beloved
sleep.' Yet they are but an imperfect translation of the original, which
reads: 'He giveth _to_ His beloved _in_ sleep.' Do you not see here a
greater meaning? Do your minds not at once grasp the corollary?"

"Then you mean," Tommy asked, "that every dream is intended to express
something?"

"I will not go quite that far, although there are men highly practiced
in the science of psycho-analytical research who stoutly affirm it. Ah,
the great difficulty is in drawing the line--in determining which dreams
are but passing breezes and which are sent to us upon the wings