"What do you mean by going back three or four hundred years?" asked
Warner, looking curiously at Dick.

"Why, don't you see them out there?"

"See them out there? See what?"

"Why, the queer little ships with the high sides and prows! On my soul,
George, they're the caravels of Spain! Look, they're stopping! Now they
lower something in black over the side of the first caravel. I see a man
in a black robe like a priest, holding a cross in his hand and standing
at the ship's edge saying something. I think he's praying, boys.
Now sailors cut the ropes that hold the dark object. It falls into the
river and disappears. It's the burial of De Soto in the Father of Waters
which he discovered!"

"Dick, you're dreaming," exclaimed Pennington.

"Yes, I know, but once there was a Chinaman who dreamed that he was a
lily. When he woke up he didn't know whether he was a Chinaman who had
dreamed he was a lily or a lily now dreaming he was a Chinaman."

"I like that story, Dick, but you've got too much imagination. The tale
of the death and burial of De Soto has always been so vivid to you that
you just stood there and re-created the scene for yourself."

"Of course that's it," said Pennington, "but why can't a fellow create
things with his mind, when things that don't exist jump right up before
his eyes? I've often seen the mirage, generally about dark, far out on