It was a gray day in the spring of 1910. "Ah! you are there, my dear young lady," said the widow, smiling faintly; "when I first waken, I'm always in dread of finding myself again in that horrible asylum. An avid reader in many genres, I love to share books that have given me much pleasure. Every one has to make a deal with the world. 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. " There was a momentary and terrible silence, broken only by a few feeble groans.
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