gods and temples and sunny streets. Back through the past, carefree they
went--and at every turn the boy's memory rang true. "Do you remember,
Alcie--the little house below the Temple of the Winds--" Achilles's
eyes were on his face--and the boy's face laughed--"Yes--father.
That house--" quick running words that tripped themselves--"where I
stole--figs--three little figs. You whipped me then!" The boy laughed
and turned on his side and watched the clouds and the talk ran on...
coming closer at last, across the great Sea, through New York and the
long hurrying train, into the grimy city--on the shore of the lake--the
boy's eyes grew wistful. "I go home--with you--father--?" he said.
It was a quick question and his eyes flashed from the garden to his
father's face.

"Do you what to go home, Alcie?" The face smiled at him. "Don't you like
it here?" A gesture touched the garden.

"I like--yes. I go home--with you," he said simply.

"You must stay till you are strong," said the father, watching him. "You
were hurt, you know. It takes time to get strong.... You remember that
you were hurt?"

The words dropped slowly, one by one, and the day drowsed. The sun--warm
as Athens--shone down, waiting, while the boy turned slowly on his
side... his eyes had grown dark. "I try--remember" His voice was half a
whisper, "--but it runs--away!" The eyes seemed to be straining to see
something beyond them--through a veil.

Achilles's hand passed before them and shut them off. "Don't try, Alcie.
Never mind--it's all right. Don't mind!"