My father once told me the story of the Ambrose Stone. He never mentioned from where it got its name, but said that it was a stone infused with miraculous power. If you touched a sick person with it, that person would be healed. If you slept with it under your pillow, you would have dreams of the future and would be more able to plan your life in a way that would be most beneficial. The Ambrose Stone, my dad said, would bring its owner, love, joy, peace, health and prosperity. Naturally, I asked him where the Stone could be found. Unfortunately, he sadly replied that he did not know and told me he had heard the story from the old man who lived by the river. At that time I was just a young boy and, much as I wanted the Stone for my own gratification, I didn’t know where to begin searching. This, of course, did not prevent me from pestering Dad with all sorts of questions about the possibility of finding and using the Stone. I thought of all the things I could do, all the people I could heal, all the magic I could perform. Well, not really. Being a little boy, I thought only of selfish things. I even announced to my dad that I’d use the power of the Ambrose Stone to wreak revenge on the neighborhood bully. At that, my dad smiled sadly and motioned me to come closer. I was only eight or nine years old at the time, but I still remember his voice as he passed his hand through my hair and said, “Listen carefully to what I will tell you now, son.” “Tell me, Dad, tell me,” I fairly squirmed with glee. Surely he must have discovered the location of the Ambrose Stone.