that when I was a child a dear old lady often visited us, who was
continually telling us about Grocer Sarkis, and used to hold up his
children as models. In summer, when the early fruit was ripe, she used
to visit his house, gather fruit in his garden, and would always come to
us with full pockets, bringing us egg-plums, saffron apples, fig-pears,
and many other fruits. From that time we knew Sarkis, and when my mother
wanted any little thing for the house I got it for her at his store. I
loved him well, this Sarkis; he was a quiet, mild man, around whose
mouth a smile hovered. "What do you want, my child?" he always asked
when I entered his store.

"My mother sends you greeting," I would answer. "She wants this or
that."

"Well, well, my child, you shall have it," he usually answered, and
always gave me a stick of sugar candy, with the words, "That is for you;
it is good for the cough." It never happened that I went out of the
store without receiving something from him. In winter-time he treated me
to sugar candy, and in summer-time he always had in his store great
baskets full of apricots, plums, pears, and apples, or whatever was in
season in his garden. His garden at that time--some thirty or
thirty-five years ago--was very famous. One time my mother sent me to
Sarkis's store to procure, as I remember, saffron for the pillau. Sarkis
gave me what I desired, and then noticing, probably, how longingly I
looked toward the fruit-baskets, he said:

"Now, you shall go and have a good time in my garden. Do you know where
my house is?"

"Yes, I know. Not far from the Church of Our Lady."

"Right, my son, you have found it. It has green blinds, and a fig-tree
stands in front of it. Now take this basket and carry it to Auntie, and
say that I sent word that she was to let you go into the garden with my
son Toros. There you two may eat what you will."

He handed me a neat-looking basket. I peeped into it and saw a sheep's
liver. I was as disgusted with this as though it were a dead dog, for at
that time liver-eaters were abhorred not less than thieves and
counterfeiters; they with their whole family were held in derision, and
people generally refused to associate with them. In a moment I forgot
entirely what a good man Sarkis was; I forgot his fruit-garden and his
pretty daughter, of whom the good old lady had told me so many beautiful
things. The liver had spoiled everything in a trice. Sarkis noticed
this, and asked m