Still a little flushed with confusion, the boy went to his own room and came back a few minutes later with a sketch-book. His father turned over the pages. The drawings covered a period of several years, and though the first were crude, the later ones were quite well done. Those dated during the last year showed the results of real study. There was no doubting that the lad had picked up a fair knowledge of gross anatomy in following his hobby. Most of the pictures were copies from illustrations in scientific books or were drawn from models in the Museum. But there were a few, here and there, that were just fancy, idle sketches drawn for amusement’s sake. Over one of these—a picture-book dragon with scales and a snaky tail—the old merchant paused, smiling. Several minutes elapsed before he turned the page. He went through the book twice without saying a word. At last he spoke. “In the second drawer from the bottom, in that cabinet,” he said, pointing to an old cupboard which Perry had never seen unlocked, and at the same time handing a key to the boy, “you will find a large book bound in faded green leather. Bring it here.” Although rebuffed by his failure to get a direct answer to his appeal for permission to go on the expedition, Perry took the key. He felt that, in some way, his present quest was connected with the question he had raised, and as he unlocked the cupboard, the boy wondered. In the drawer he found the faded book, with its cover of green Russian leather all dry and crumbling to the touch, and brought it to his father. Still without comment, the old merchant slowly untied the string that held the covers of the ancient book together, and opening it carefully, turned to the first page. There, drawn with childish detail, was a picture of a dragon such as men in the Middle Ages believed that creature really to be, with two legs armed with claws, spiked wings, a long powerful tail, scales, and a ferocious-looking head with jaws wide open, disclosing pointed teeth, while from the throat, flames and smoke were pouring in volumes. The boy looked up. “Why, Father—” he began. With a faint smile, the old merchant pointed to the date at the bottom of the drawing, its pencil marks so faint as to be almost indistinguishable. “I must have been nine years old, then,” he said. “I can remember well when I drew that beast. Father had a queer old Latin book, a sort of mediæval natural history, and it gave a drawing of every supposedly known beast in the world. This was one of them. At that time I believed that a dragon was as real as a lion or an elephant. To tell you the truth, Perry, I’ve never quite got away from the feeling of that old book of Aldrovandus, his beasts were so much a part of my childhood. When I was a youngster I was convinced that any adventurous boy could find plenty of dragons like this one, if he only went to the right place to look for them.” “And did the book tell you where to look?”