A story Neville read in a magazine and retells in at least two lectures. A man is shaving when his six-year-old daughter comes in and asks, out of the blue, Daddy, where does God really live? He answers absent-mindedly, in the well - and she says Oh, Daddy! with disgust, because the reply is so silly. At breakfast his wife asks what he has been telling Debbie about God living in a well, and he does not know he said it. Then the memory comes back: thirty-odd years earlier, in Poland, aged five, he had watched a troupe of travelling Gypsies stop in his father's courtyard for water. A giant of a Gypsy with a short-cropped, fiery red beard drew up a bucket and drank it off as easily as a cup of tea, the water running down his beard; then he leaned over the well and peered into its depths. The little boy tried to climb the side to see what he was looking at. The Gypsy scooped him up and asked, do you know who lives in there? The boy shook his head. God lives there, said the Gypsy - and held him out over the well: Look! The boy said, Why, it's me! And the Gypsy said, Ah! Now you know where God lives. Neville uses it as the whole doctrine delivered without a word of exposition, and the detail that makes it work is the forgetting: the father had been told the answer at five and could only repeat it as a joke he did not understand.