He shut his eyes again, wishing, for some strange reason--charm, sympathy, strangeness--to regain the lost scene. An odd longing filled his heart, a sense of comradeship lost, of some friend he knew missing. When he opened his eyes again he seemed to realize something more of what had been happening, but it was fading, fading. At his feet lay the plain and the ants with whom he had recently been--or so he thought. Yes, there, only a few feet away in the parched grass, was an arid spot, over-run with insects. He gazed upon it, in amazement, searching for the details of a lost world. Now, as he saw, coming closer, a giant battle was in progress, such a one, for instance, as that in which he had been engaged in his dream. The ground was strewn with dead ants. Thousands upon thousands were sawing and striking at each other quite in the manner in which he had dreamed. What was this?--a revelation of the spirit and significance of a lesser life or of his own--or what? And what was life if the strange passions, moods and necessities which conditioned him here could condition those there on so minute a plane? “Why, I was there,” he said dazedly and a little dreamfully, “a little while ago. I died there--or as well as died there--in my dream. At least I woke out of it into this or sank from that into this.” Stooping closer he could see where lines were drawn, how in places the forces raged in confusion, and the field was cluttered with the dead. At one moment an odd mad enthusiasm such as he had experienced in his dream-world lay hold of him, and he looked for the advantage of the Shining Slave Makers--the blacks--as he thought of the two warring hosts as against the reds. But finding it not, the mood passed, and he stood gazing, lost in wonder. What a strange world! he thought. What worlds within worlds, all apparently full of necessity, contention, binding emotions and unities--and all with sorrow, their sorrow--a vague, sad something out of far-off things which had been there, and was here in this strong bright city day, had been there and would be here until this odd, strange thing called _life_ had ended. NIGGER JEFF