charm, outside the grass-line and the rickety wooden
fence that framed them in, ran an uneven pavement
splashed with cool shadows and stained with green
mould. Here, in summer, the watermelon-man
stopped his cart; and here, in winter, upon its broken
bricks, old Moses unhooked his bucket of oysters and
ceased for a moment his droning call.

On the shady side of the square, and half-hidden
in ivy, was a Noah's Ark church, topped by a quaint
belfry holding a bell that had not rung for years, and
faced by a clock-dial all weather-stains and cracks,
around which travelled a single rusty hand. In its
shadow to the right lay the home of the Archdeacon,
a stately mansion with Corinthian columns reaching
to the roof and surrounded by a spacious garden
filled with damask roses and bushes of sweet syringa.
To the left crouched a row of dingy houses built of
brick, their iron balconies hung in flowering vines,
the windows glistening with panes of wavy glass purpled
by age.

On the sunny side of the square, opposite the
church, were more houses, high and low; one all garden,
filled with broken-nosed statues hiding behind
still more magnolias, and another all veranda and
honeysuckle, big rocking-chairs and swinging hammocks;
and still others with porticos curtained by
white jasmine or Virginia creeper.