He knew from the description that had been given him that he had found the right place, and somehow, the house, the big hedge and the front doorway seemed strangely familiar to him. It seemed to him that some time in the remote past he had either been there before or else dreamt of just such a place, only the picture that had remained faintly outlined in his mind was of a house and hedge and trees that were fully five times as tall as those which he now saw before him. And then it seemed to him that the old picture which had lingered, though forgotten, in his mind for so many years contained also another door in the same house, a side door that was smaller and shaded by vines that clambered about a wooden porch. He had alighted from the wagon by this time and, impelled by curiosity, he tied his horse to a post in which was set a great rusty iron ring, and then walked around the house to see if his dream or memory whatever it might be, would prove true. [Illustration: “For fully a minute Bruce stood looking at the house.”—_Page 47._] Yes, there was the old doorway with the clematis clambering about it, just as his fancy had painted it, except that the door seemed smaller, and the clinging vines less luxuriant than in his dream. For fully a minute Bruce stood looking at the house and wondering when he could have seen it before, or whether it was simply an accidental freak of his imagination that made the scene seem so familiar to him. He was still looking and wondering when the door opened and Mr. Dexter himself appeared on the doorsill. “Come in young man,” he said, “you’ve come up for those old books and magazines I suppose.”