It was some time before he was able to draw up out of his boyhood memories, so newly made a gift to him, the stray, elucidating fact of his father's early visit to this spot and the possibility of his dream having shaped itself about some unremembered account of it. He climbed up to the galleries to give himself room to that wonder of memory which had failed to preserve to him any image of how his father looked, and yet had so furnished all his imagination. Which didn't make any less of a wonder of his knowing as he stood there, Peter Weatheral, of the firm of Weatheral, Lessing & Co., Real Estate Brokers, what it was all about. "It's a picture-book of the heart of man," he concluded, and no sooner had he shaped this thought in his mind than he heard it uttered for him on the opposite side of the pillar in a voice made soft by indulgent tenderness, "Just a great picture-book." He leaned forward at the sound far enough to have a glimpse of the Girl from Home, and smiled at her. "So you've found that out, have you?" It was not strange to find himself addressing her friendlily nor to hear her answer him. "Just a picture-book," she repeated. "It explains so much. What the saints were to them, and the Holy Personages. Monkish tales to prey upon their superstition, we were taught. But you can see here what they really were, the wonder tales of a people, the fairy wonder and the blessed happenings come true as they do in dreams. Oh, it must have been a good time when the saints were on the earth." "You believe in them, then?" "Here in San Marco, yes. But not when I am in Bloombury." "Oh!" cried Peter, "are you really from Bloombury? I knew you were from up country but I hardly dared to hope--if you will permit me----" He searched for his card which she accepted without looking at it. "You are Mr. Peter Weatheral, aren't you? Mrs. Merrithew thought she recognized you yesterday." "Is that why she glared at me so? But anyway I am obliged to her, though I haven't vestige of a recollection of her." "She didn't suppose you had. Her husband sold you some land once. But of course everybody in Bloombury knows the Mr. Weatheral who went from there to the city and made his fortune." "A sorry one," said Peter. "But if you are really from Bloombury why don't I remember you? I go there with Ellen every summer, and _she_ knows everybody." "Yes; she is so kind. Everybody says that. But I'm really from Harmony. I taught the Bloombury school last year. I am Savilla Dassonville." "Oh, I knew your father then! Now that I come to think of it, it was he who laid the foundation of my greatness," Peter smiled whimsically. "And I knew your mother; she was a very lovely lady."