things. I took up a lot of photographs to-day--some of the _later_
period mixed in--and she picked them out as if she had been brought up
in Athens."

The professor looked interested. "Modern educational methods?"

"As much as you like," said the instructor. "But it is something more.
When I am with the child I am in Athens itself. Chicago makes me blink
when I come out."

The professor laughed. The next day he made an appointment to go himself
to see the child. He was a famous epigraphist and an authority in his
subject. He had spent years in Greece--with his nose, for the most part,
held close to bits of parchment and stone.

When he came away, he was laughing softly. "I am going over for a year,"
he said, when he met the instructor that afternoon in the corridor.

"Did you see the little Harris girl?" asked the instructor.

The professor paused. "Yes, I saw her."

"How did she strike you?"

"She struck me dumb," said the professor. "I listened for the best
part of an hour while she expounded things to me--asked me questions I
couldn't answer, mostly." He chuckled a little. "I felt like a fool," he
added, frankly, "and it felt good."

The instructor smiled. "I go through it twice a week. The trouble seems