"Who'd have thought _you_ would know it?" said the voice. "I am fond of _Young Richard_. Is Phil your brother?" "She's my sister--but I have a brother. He's sixteen, and he's almost as high as the doorways at Applegate Farm." "I seem not to know where Applegate Farm is," the old gentleman mused. "It's quite next door to you," said Kirk. "They call it the Baldwin place, really. But Ken happened to think that Baldwin's a kind of apple, and there _is_ an orchard and a gate, so we called it that." "The old farm-house across the meadow!" There was a shade of perplexity in the voice. "You live _there_?" "It's the most beautiful place in the world," said Kirk, with conviction, "except your garden." "Beautiful--to you! Why?" "Oh, everything!" Kirk said, frowning, and trying to put into words what was really joy in life and spring and the love of his brother and sister. "Everything--the wind in the trees, and in the chimney at night, and the little toads that sing,--do you ever hear them?--and the fire, and, and--_everything_!" "And youth," said the old gentleman to himself, "and an unconscious courage to surmount all obstacles. But perhaps, after all, the unseen part of Applegate Farm is the more beautiful." Aloud, he said: "Do you like to look at odd things? That is--I mean--" Kirk helped him out. "I do like to," he said. "I look at them with my fingers--but it's all the same." Such things to look at! They were deposited, one after the other, in Kirk's eager hands,--the intricate carving of Japanese ivory, entrancingly smooth--almost like something warm and living, after one had held it for a few adoring moments in careful hands. And there was a Burmese ebony elephant, with a ruby in his forehead. "A ruby is red," Kirk murmured; "it is like the fire. And the elephant is black. I see him very well." "Once upon a time," said the old gentleman, "a rajah rode on him--a rajah no bigger than your finger. And his turban was encrusted with the most precious of jewels, and his robe was stiff with gold. The elephant wore anklets of beaten silver, and they clinked as he walked." Kirk's face was intent, listening. The little ebony elephant stood motionless on his palm, dim in the firelight. "I hear them clinking," he said, "and the people shouting--oh, so far away!" He put the treasure back into his host's hand, at last. "I'd like, please, to look at _you_," he said. "It won't hurt," he added quickly, instantly conscious of some unspoken hesitancy. "I have no fear of that," said the voice, "but you will find little worth the looking for." Kirk, nevertheless, stood beside the old gentleman's chair, ready with a quick, light hand to visualize his friend's features. "My hair, if that will help you," the voice told him, "is quite white, and my eyes are usually rather blue."