full month had run under the bridges of time since then, and man's
memory is not infinite.

But in walking by a certain garden he heard a sound of sobbing; and
curiosity, of which he was largely made, caused him to climb the old
brick wall that he might discover the cause. What he saw from his
perch was a garden laid out in neat plots between grassy walks edged
with double daisies, red, white and pink, or bordered with sweet
herbs, or with lavender and wallflower; and here and there were
cordons of fruit-trees, apple, plum and cherry, and in a sunny
corner a clump of flowering currant heavy with humming bees; and
against the inner walls flat pear-trees stretched their long
straight lines, like music-staves whereon a lovely melody was
written in notes of snow. And in the midst of all this stood a very
young man with a face as brown as a berry. He was spraying the
cordons with quassia-water. But whenever he filled his syringe he
wept so many tears above the bucket that it was always full to the
brim.

When he had watched this happen several times, Martin hailed the
young man.

"Young master!" said Martin, "the eater of your plums will need
sugar thereto, and that's flat."

The young man turned his eyes upward.

"There is not sugar enough in all the world," he answered, "to
sweeten the fruits that are watered by my sorrows."