He was behind me on the way home from school. When the others had run on, he overtook me and said: “Hello!” Even his manner of greeting, although he imitated our schoolboy tone of voice, was polite and like that of a grown-up person.

“Shall we go a little way together?” he questioned in a friendly way. I was flattered and nodded. Then I described to him where I lived.

“Oh, there?” he said laughingly. “I know the house already. There is a remarkable work of art over your door, which interested me at once.”

I did not guess immediately to what he was referring, and was astonished that he seemed to know our house better than I did. There was indeed a sort of crest which served as a keystone over the arch of the door, but in course of time it had become faint and had often been painted over. As far as I knew, it had nothing to do with us, or with our family.