She did not know it was a rug nor that it was woven in some poor peasant's home and then was brought here years afterward at a fabulous price.

She only knew it was beautiful in its silvery sheen with gleaming colors through it like jewels in the dew.
On through another open doorway she caught a glimpse of a painting on the wall.

It was a man as large as life, sitting in a chair; and the face and attitude were her father's--her father at his best.

She was fairly startled.

Who was it?
Could it be her father?
And how had they made this picture of him?
He must be changed in those twenty years he had been gone from home.
Then the butler came back, and before he could speak she pointed toward the picture.