"'Do you not think so because it is the latest, and your feelings about it are freshest?' he asked.
"I laughed. 'A bad guess. It is not my present home. This one was near a river.'
"'Exactly.'
"This time the 'exactly' did not seem so appropriate as before, and I explained further.
"'For one thing we were there when I was at an age when attachment to a place gets most deeply rooted, I think. As a mere child one enjoys and suffers like a kitten from hour to hour. But when one is just old enough to form associations and weave dreams, and yet is still a child—it is then, I fancy, that a home gets almost bound up with one's life.'
"He simply said 'Yes,' and I went on. Why, I can hardly tell, except that to talk on any subject beyond mere current chit-chit, and be understood, was a luxury we did not often taste at the tea-parties of the town.
"'And yet I don't know if my theory will hold good, even in our case,' I went on, 'for my father was quite as much devoted to the place as we were, and fell in love with it quite as early. But the foreign name was the first attraction to him, I think.'
"'It was abroad, then?' he asked.
"I explained, and again I can hardly tell why, but I went on talking till I had given him nearly as full a history of Reka Dom as I have given to you. For one thing he seemed amazingly interested in the recital, and drew out many particulars by questions; and then the song had filled my head with tender memories, and happy little details of old times, and it was always pleasant to prose about the River Home, as indeed, my child, it is pleasant still.
"We were laughing over some childish reminiscence, when Miss Martha tapped me on the shoulder and said rather louder than usual—