n trickle of
words fell gratefully upon his ears. He had no desire to either hear
or speak. All he craved was the healing silence of open spaces. But he
was soon to learn that this new life held no such soul-cleansing
solace. Gradually he fell a bit apart from his chattering comrades.

They passed an ill-kept croquet ground and some patches of garden
where those who were so disposed could raise vegetables or flowers.
There was something pathetic about the figures bending with childlike
faith over their labor of love--attempting to make nature smile upon
them. Without the vision of the bull pen Fred Starratt would have
found much that afternoon that was revolting. But one glimpse into the
horrible inferno of the morning had made him less sensitive to milder
impressions.

After a while Monet detached himself from the rest of the walking
throng and fell back with Starratt. He seemed to have an instinctive
gift for sensing moods, and Fred was grateful for his silence.

They were passing by a two-story concrete building in the Colonial
style when Monet touched Fred's arm.

"That's the famous Ward Six," Monet explained, softly. "You'll get
there finally if you work it right... It's not heaven ... but
alongside the other wards it comes pretty near being."

They turned about shortly after this and began to retrace their steps.
Presently a man came in sight, pulling a cardboard box mounted upon
four spools.

"An inventor," Monet said, as Fred threw out a questioning glance. "He
has an idea that he's perfected a wonderful automobile... You'll get
used to them after a while."

A little farther on they met a haughty-looking Japanese coming toward
them. Monet plucked at Fred's sleeve. "Better step to one side," he
cautioned; "that fellow thinks he is the Emperor of Japan!"

Fred did as he was bidden and the Japanese swept past gloomily.

"Well, at least he's happy, in his own way!" Monet commented, with a
tinge of irony.

Soon after that another man passed, weeping bitterly.

"They call him the Weeping Willow," Monet explained. "He weeps because
he can find no one who will kill him."

Fred shuddered.

By this time they had reached their starting point. Fred felt suddenly
tired. "Let's rest a bit under the trees," he proposed.

Monet assented, and the two threw themselves into the first shade.
Fred closed his eyes. He had a sense that he was dreaming--that all
the scenes that he had witnessed these many days were un