in his
mother's house. There he stood, like a glad, returned traveller,
counting the pieces of furniture; deeply grateful that they were in
their places and carefully preserved.

The minutest articles were noted. A vase of flowers; the curtains
swaying in the breeze; an elusive odour that often haunted Northrup's
waking hours. The room was now as it always had been. That being
assured, Northrup, still in deep sleep, turned to the corridor and
expectantly viewed the closed doors. But right here a new note was
interjected. Previously, the corridor and doors were things he had
gazed upon, feeling as a stranger might; but now they were like the
room; quite his own. He had trod the passage; had looked into the
empty rooms--they were empty but had held a suggestion of things about
to occur.

And then waking suddenly, Northrup understood--he had come to the
place of his dream. The Inn was the old setting. In a clairvoyant
state, he had been in this place before!

He went to the door of his room and glanced down the passage. All was
quiet. The dream made an immediate impression on Northrup. Not only
did it arouse his power of creation, strengthen and illumine it; but
it evolved a sense of hurry that inspired him without worrying him. It
was like the frenzy that seizes an artist when he wants to get a bit
of beauty on canvas in a certain light that may change in the next
minute. He felt that what he was about to do must be done rapidly and
he knew that he would have strength to meet the demand.

He was quickened to every slight thing that came his way: faces,
voices, colour. He realized the unrest that his very innocent presence
inspired. He wondered about it. What lay seething under the thick
crust of King's Forest that was bubbling to the surface? Was his
coming the one thing needed to--to----

And then he thought of that figure of speech that Manly had used. The
black lava flowing; oozing, silently. The whole world, in the big and
in the little, was being awakened and aroused--it was that, not his
presence, that confused the Forest.

The habits of the house amused and moved him sympathetically. Little
Aunt Polly, it appeared, was Judge and Final Court of Justice to
the people. Through her he felt he must look for guidance and
understanding.

There were always two hours in the afternoons set aside for
"hearings." Perched on the edge of the couch, pillows to right and
left, eyeglasses aslant and knitting in hand, Aun