When we'd perused and appraised the desirability of acquiring some of the items for sale at the Perth antique show on Saturday, and ultimately decided that our collection of paintings cried out for the addition of a large pastel by a well-known Canadian artist born just after the turn of the 19th Century in Great Britain, we drove back home with a feeling of acquisitory satisfaction.

Once home, my husband looked through his library of information on Canadian artists for background information and his catalogues of art at auction to verify his initial memory recall of that artist. Our initial impression of the painting and its appeal to us fortified by knowledge of the artist's place in the Canadian art world of his time. The lure of having a painting documenting indigenous peoples' settlement close to where we now live was simply irresistible to us.

That glow was not extinguished by the following morning. Rather it burned just as brightly, compelling my husband to suggest we prepare to drive out again to the picturesque town where the Tay River meanders through on the edge of the small area of parkland where the antique show was held, trusting that the object that caught our attention the day before would still be there.

We drove there in a constant downpour, not at all conducive to enjoyment of the drive, unlike the previous day's excursion. Apart from which, the drive was complicated by our having to traverse the city, where some key expressways were shut down, some for accommodation to Sunday bikers, others because of construction projects; it seemed everywhere we looked in the city construction was ongoing, both on the roadways themselves -- in one area a bridge being replaced -- and on some of the capital's monumental buildings, undergoing needed renovation.

But we did finally arrive back in Perth, in by then a light drizzle. And there he was, the vendor with whom we'd had such a lengthy, fascinating conversation the day before. And there was the wax Amerindian piece that had attracted our attention.