The summer arrived, speeding the Plague and with it the famine in the streets. Has he given you the tools?" "He has," replied Bess, producing the handkerchief. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. Spiders came out of their hiding places to commune in windows, industriously spinning their own designs over the stained glass. I'll think no more about her.
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