As　the　golden　summer　changed　into　the　deep　golden　autumn　he　went　to　the　Lake　of　Como。　　There　he　found　the　loveliness　of　a　dream。　　He　spent　his　days　upon　the　crystal　blueness　of　the　lake　or　he　walked　back　into　the　soft　thick　verdure　of　the　hills　and　tramped　until　he　was　tired　so　that　he　might　sleep。　　But　by　this　time　he　had　begun　to　sleep　better；　he　knew；　and　his　dreams　had　ceased　to　be　a　terror　to　him。
  〃Perhaps；〃　he　thought；　〃my　body　is　growing　stronger。〃
  It　was　growing　stronger　butbecause　of　the　rare　peaceful　hours　when　his　thoughts　were　changedhis　soul　was　slowly　growing　stronger；　too。　　He　began　to　think　of　Misselthwaite　and　wonder　if　he　should　not　go　home。　Now　and　then　he　wondered　vaguely　about　his　boy　and　asked　himself　what　he　should　feel　when　he　went　and　stood　by　the　carved　four…posted　bed　again　and　looked　down　at　the　sharply　chiseled　ivory…white　face　while　it　slept　and；　the　black　lashes　rimmed　so　startlingly　the　close…shut　eyes。　He　shrank　from　it。
  One　marvel　of　a　day　he　had　walked　so　far　that　when　he　returned　the　moon　was　high　and　full　and　all　the　world　was　purple　shadow　and　silver。　　The　stillness　of　lake　and　shore　and　wood　was　so　wonderful　that　he　did　not　go　into　the　villa　he　lived　in。　　He　walked　down　to　a　little　bowered　terrace　at　the　water's　edge　and　sat　upon　a　seat　and　breathed　in　all　the　heavenly　scents　of　the　night。　He　felt　the　strange　calmness　stealing　over　him　and　it　grew　deeper　and　deeper　until　he　fell　asleep。
  He　did　not　know　when　he　fell　asleep　and　when　he　began　to　dream；　his　dream　was　so　real　that　he　did　not　feel　as　if　he　were　dreaming。　　He　remembered　afterward　how　intensely　wide　awake　and　alert　he　had　thought　he　was。　He　thought　that　as　he　sat　and　breathed　in　the　scent　of　the　late　roses　and　listened　to　the　lapping　of　the　water　at　his　feet　he　heard　a　voice　calling。　　It　was　sweet　and　clear　and　happy　and　far　away。　　It　seemed　very　far；　but　he　heard　it　as　distinctly　as　if　it　had　been　at　his　very　side。
  〃Archie！　Archie！　Archie！〃　it　said；　and　then　again；　sweeter　and　clearer　than　before；　〃Archie！　Archie！〃
  He　thought　he　sprang　to　his　feet　not　even　startled。　It　was　such　a　real　voice　and　it　seemed　so　natural　that　he　should　hear　it。
  〃Lilias！　Lilias！〃　he　answered。　　〃Lilias！　where　are　you？〃
  〃In　the　garden；〃　it　came　back　like　a　sound　from　a　golden　flute。　　〃In　the　garden！〃
  And　then　the　dream　ended。　　But　he　did　not　awaken。　He　slept　soundly　and　sweetly　all　through　the　lovely　night。　When　he　did　awake　at　last　it　was　brilliant　morning　and　a　servant　was　standing　staring　at　him。　　He　was　an　Italian　servant　and　was　accustomed；　as　all　the　servants　of　the　villa　were；　to　accepting　without　question　any　strange　thing　his　foreign　master　might　do。　　No　one　ever　knew　when　he　would　go　out　or　come　in　or　where　he　would　choose　to　sleep　or　if　he　would　roam　about　the　garden　or　lie　in　the　boat　on　the　lake　all　night。　　The　man　held　a　salver　with　some　letters　on　it　and　he　waited　quietly　until　Mr。　Craven　took　them。　　When　he　had　gone　away　Mr。　Craven　sat　a　few　moments　holding　them　in　his　hand　and　looking　at　the　lake。　His　strange　calm　was　still　upon　him　and　something　morea　lightness　as　if　the　cruel　thing　which　had　been　done　had　not　happened　as　he　thoughtas　if　something　had　changed。　He　was　remembering　the　dreamthe　realreal　dream。
  〃In　the　garden！〃　he　said；　wondering　at　himself。　　〃In　the　garden！　But　the　door　is　locked　and　the　key　is　buried　deep。〃
  When　he　glanced　at　the　letters　a　few　minutes　later　he　saw　that　the　one　lying　at　the　top　of　the　rest　was　an　English　letter　and　came　from　Yorkshire。　　It　was　directed　in　a　plain　woman's　hand　but　it　was　not　a　hand　he　knew。　He　opened　it；　scarcely　thinking　of　the　writer；　but　the　first　words　attracted　his　attention　at　once。
  〃Dear　Sir：
  I　am　Susan　Sowerby　that　made　bold　to　speak　to　you　once　on　the　moor。　　It　was　about　Miss　Mary　I　spoke。　I　will　make　bold　to　speak　again。　　Please；　sir；　I　would　come　home　if　I　was　you。　　I　think　you　would　be　glad　to　come　andif　you　will　excuse　me；　sirI　think　your　lady　would　ask　you　to　come　if　she　was　here。
  Your　obedient　servant；　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Susan　Sowerby。〃
  Mr。　Craven　read　the　letter　twice　before　he　put　it　back　in　its　envelope。　　He　kept　thinking　about　the　dream。
  〃I　will　go　back　to　Misselthwaite；〃　he　said。　　〃Yes；　I'll　go　at　once。〃
  And　he　went　through　the　garden　to　the　villa　and　ordered　Pitcher　to　prepare　for　his　return　to　England。
  In　a　few　days　he　was　in　Yorkshire　again；　and　on　his　long　railroad　journey　he　found　himself　thinking　of　his　boy　as　he　had　never　thought　in　all　the　ten　years　past。　During　those　years　he　had　only　wished　to　forget　him。　Now；　though　he　did　not　intend　to　think　about　him；　memories　of　him　constantly　drifted　into　his　mind。　He　remembered　the　black　days　when　he　had　raved　like　a　madman　because　the　child　was　alive　and　the　mother　was　dead。　He　had　refused　to　see　it；　and　when　he　had　gone　to　look　at　it　at　last　it　had　been；　such　a　weak　wretched　thing　that　everyone　had　been　sure　it　would　die　in　a　few　days。　But　to　the　surprise　of　those　who　took　care　of　it　the　days　passed　and　it　lived　and　then　everyone　believed　it　would　be　a　deformed　and　crippled　creature。
  He　had　not　meant　to　be　a　bad　father；　but　he　had　not　felt　like　a　father　at　all。　　He　had　supplied　doctors　and　nurses　and　luxuries；　but　he　had　shrunk　from　the　mere　thought　of　the　boy　and　had　buried　himself　in　his　own　misery。　The　first　time　after　a　year's　absence　he　returned　to　Misselthwaite　and　the　small　miserable　looking　thing　languidly　and　indifferently　lifted　to　his　face　the　great　gray　eyes　with　black　lashes　round　them；　so　like　and　yet　so　horribly　unlike　the　happy　eyes　he　had　adored；　he　could　not　bear　the　sight　of　them　and　turned　away　pale　as　death。　After　that　he　scarcely　ever　saw　him　except　when　he　was　asleep；　and　all　he　knew　of　him　was　that　he　was　a　confirmed　invalid；　with　a　vicious；　hysterical；　half…insane　temper。　　He　could　only　be　kept　from　furies　dangerous　to　himself　by　being　given　his　own　way　in　every　detail。
  All　this　was　not　an　uplifting　thing　to　recall；　but　as　the　train　whirled　him　through　mountain　passes　and　golden　plains　the　man　who　was　〃coming　alive〃　began　to　think　in　a　new　way　and　he　thought　long　and　steadily　and　deeply。
  〃Perhaps　I　have　been　all　wrong　for　ten　years；〃　he　said　to　himself。　　〃Ten　years　is　a　long　time。　It　may　be　too　late　to　do　anythingquite　too　late。　What　have　I　been　thinking　of！〃
  Of　course　this　was　the　wrong　Magicto　begin　by　saying　〃too　late。〃　Even　Colin　could　have　told　him　that。　But　he　knew　nothing　of　Magiceither　black　or　white。　This　he　had　yet　to　learn。　　He　wondered　if　Susan　Sowerby　had　taken　courage　and　written　to　him　only　because　the　motherly　creature　had　realized　that　the　boy　was　much　worsewas　fatally　ill。　　If　he　had　not　been　under　the　spell　of　the　curious　calmness　which　had　taken　possession　of　him　he　would　have　been　more　wretched　than　ever。　But　the　calm　had　brought　a　sort　of　courage　and　hope　with　it。　Instead　of　giving　way　to　thoughts　of　the　worst　he　actually　found　he　was　trying　to　believe　in　better　things。
  〃Could　it　be　possible　that　she　sees　that　I　may　be　able　to　do　him　good　and　control　him？　〃　he　thought。　　〃I　will　go　and　see　her　on　my　way　to　Misselthwaite。〃
  But　when　on　his　way　across　the　moor　he　stopped　the　carriage　at　the　cottage；　seven　or　eight　children　who　were　playing　about　gathered　in　a　group　and　bobbing　seven　or　eight　friendly　and　polite　curtsies　told　him　that　their　mother　had　gone　to　the　other　side　of　the　moor　early　in　the　morning　to　help　a　woman　who　had　a　new　baby。　　〃Our　Dickon；〃　they　volunteered；　was　over　at　the　Manor　working　in　one　of　the　gardens　where　he　went　several　days　each　week。
  Mr。　Craven　looked　over　the　collection　of　sturdy　little　bodies　and　round　red…cheeked　faces；　each　one　grinning　in　its　own　particular　way；　and　he　awoke　to　the　fact　that　they　were　a　healthy　likable　lot。　　He　smiled　at　their　friendly　grins　and　took　a　golden　sovereign　from　his　pocket　and　gave　it　to　〃our　'Lizabeth　Ellen〃　who　was　the　oldest。
  〃If　you　divide　that　into　eight　parts　there　will　be　half　a　crown　for　each　of；　you；〃　he　said。
  Then　amid　grins　and　chuckles　and　bobbing　of　curtsies　he　drove　away；　leaving　ecstasy　and　nudging　elbows　and　little　jumps　of　joy　behind。
  The　drive　across　the　wonderfulness　of　the　moor　was　a　soothing　thing。　　Why　did　it　seem　to　give　him　a　sense　of　homecoming　which　he　had　been　sure　he　could　never　feel　againthat　sense　of　the　beauty　of　land　and　sky　and　purple　bloom　of　distance　and　a　warming　of　the　heart　at　drawing；　nearer　to　the　great　old　house　which　had　held　those　of　his　blood　for　six　hundred　years？　How　he　had　driven　away　from　it　the　last　time；　shuddering　to　think　of　its　closed　rooms　and　the　boy　lying　in　the　four…posted　bed　with　the　brocaded　hangings。　　Was　it　possible　that　perhaps　he　might　find　him　changed　a　little　for　the　better　and　that　he　might　overcome　his　shrinking　from　him？　How　real　that　dream　had　beenhow　wonderful　and　clear　the　voice　which　called　back　to　him；　〃In　the　gardenIn　the　garden！〃
  〃I　will　try　to　find　the　key；〃　he　said。　　〃I　will　try　to　open　the　door。　　I　mustthough　I　don't　know　why。〃
  When　he　arrived　at　the　Manor　the　servants　who　received　him　with　the　usual　ceremony　noticed　that　he　looked　better　and　that　he　did　not　go　to　the　remote　rooms　where　he　usually　lived　attended　by　Pitcher。　He　wen