It was not because the room was so much bigger than the rest that he made this decision; it was only because it was so much more quaint. At one side it merged, by means of a slender doorway, with the galleried piazza. From it, by means of that tiny flight of stairs, Lutetia could have descended to the first floor of that mid-Victorian addition. "I take it all back, Lutetia," he approved. "Middle of the nineteenth century or not, it's a wonder--this combination." At the back of Lutetia's room was a third door; as slender as the door leading to the gallery, but much lower; not four feet high. Lindsay pushed it open, crawled on hands and knees through it. He had of course, on his first exploration, entered the small room into which it led. But he had gone in and out without careful examination; it had seemed merely a four-walled room. Coming into it, however, from Lutetia's bedroom, it suddenly acquired character. The walls were papered in white. And on the mid-Victorian dado scarcely legible now, he suddenly discovered drawings. Drawings of a curious character and of a more curious technique. He followed their fluttery maze from wall to wall--a flight of little beings, winged at the shoulders and knees, with flying locks and strange finlike hands and feet; fanciful, comic, tender. "Oh!" Lindsay emitted aloud. "Ah!" And in an instant: "I see! This room belonged to that child Hyde spoke of." He ascended to the garret. This was of course the big storeroom of the Colonial imagination. It too was quite empty. At one spot a post--obviously not a roof-support--ran from floor to ceiling. Lindsay gazed about a little unseeingly. "I wonder what that post was for?" he questioned himself absently. After a while, "What's become of that child?" he demanded of circumambient space. As though this offered food for reflection, he descended by means of the main stairway to the lower floor; sat on the doorsteps a while. He mused--gazing out into the green-colored, sweet-scented June afternoon. After an interval he arose and repeated his voyage of exploration. Again he was struck with the friendly quality of the old place. That physical dampness, which long vacant houses hold in solution, seemed entirely to have disappeared before the flood of June sunshine. The spiritual chill, which always accompanies it--that sinister quality so connotative of congregations of evil spirits--he again observed was completely lacking. As he emerged from one room to enter another, it seemed to him that the one back of him filled with--_companionship_, he described it to himself. As he continued his explorations, it seemed to him that the room he was about to enter would offer him not ghostly but human welcome. That human welcome did not come, of course. Instead, there surged upon him the rich odors of the lilacs and syringas; the staccato greetings of the birds. After a while he went downstairs again. Sitting in the front doorway, he fell into a rich revery.