"Come along a few blocks further," said Manasseh, "and I'll show you."

"Come along!" I agreed, and we walked on together.

A few more blocks and Manasseh led me into a narrow street, not yet
entirely built in with houses.

Presently he stopped, with a contented smile. I looked round in some
astonishment. We were standing alongside a piece of waste ground, with a
meagre fencing of stones and burnt wire, and utilized as a garden.

"Just look," said the workman, pointing at the garden, "how delightful
it is! One so seldom sees anything of the kind in New York."

Manasseh went nearer to the fence, and his eyes wandered thirstily over
the green, flowering plants, just then in full beauty. I also looked at
the garden. The things that grew there were unknown to me, and I was
ignorant of their names. Only one thing had a familiar look--a few tall,
graceful "moons" were scattered here and there over the place, and stood
like absent-minded dreamers, or beautiful sentinels. And the roses were
in bloom, and their fragrance came in wafts over the fencing.

"You see the 'moons'?" asked Manasseh, in rapt tones, but more to
himself than to me. "Look how beautiful they are! I can't take my eyes
off them. I am capable of standing and looking at them for hours. They
make me feel happy, almost as if I were at home again. There were a lot
of them at home!"

The operative sighed, lost himself a moment in thought, and then said:

"When I smell the roses, I think of old days. We had quite a large
garden, and I was so fond of it! When the flowers began to come out, I
used to sit there for hours, and could never look at it enough. The
roses appeared to be dreaming with their great golden eyes wide open.
The cucumbers lay along the ground like pussy-cats, and the stalks and
leaves spread ever so far across the beds. The beans fought for room
like street urchins, and the pumpkins and the potatoes--you should have
seen them! And the flowers were all colors--pink and blue and yellow,
and I felt as if everything were alive, as if the whole garden were
alive--I fancied I heard them talking together, the roses, the potatoes,
the beans. I spent whole evenings in my garden. It was dear to me as my
own soul. Look, look, look, don't the roses seem as if they were alive?"

But I looked at Manasseh, and thought the consumptive workman had grown
younger and healthier. His face was less livid, and his eyes shone with
happiness.

"Do you know," sai