The garden sloped down, joining the land belonging to the next house, that faced on the side street. The low fence was broken, and just where the gate had hung, a hedge fence supplied its place, as the gate had fallen to pieces. The rank weeds and flowers grew in tangles; Nature seemed to have fought with Art, and to have gained the victory. The estate had been unoccupied for years, the owner having just died far away from home, where he had been for years in pursuit of health. His heir, a distant cousin, was expected to make his home here; as his business was in Boston, it would be very convenient. Great curiosity was expressed regarding the newcomers, particularly as there was a mystery regarding the neglect of the place for so many years; and a mystery in old Salem always wore a bewitching air. About ten days after their arrival my story commences. It was way down near the broken gate, under the sheltering boughs of an old apple tree, that a most luxurious seat had been contrived. Like a couch, it was protected at the back by cushions like the seat. It was high noon of a sultry day in June, yet the thick leaves of the old apple tree formed a perfect shade for the dear little child reposing in this lovely retreat. The little silent figure and the crutches, leaning against the seat, told the whole melancholy tale: little Hope Farley was a cripple. The soft hum of bees and insects filled the air, and the scent of flowers perfumed all around, and the bright blue sky above, lending its soft light, made her seem a part and portion of this charming picture of nature. Her doll, her dearest companion, was by her side. She had given her the quaint old-fashioned name of Joanna, and never suffered it to be abbreviated. She held conversations with her, and confided all her little troubles to her wooden ear. (It would be well if wooden ears and cats' ears were the only ones to hear secrets, would it not? I must put in my cat's oar once in a while, for, you see, this story is a big one for a cat to remember.) This day Joanna was particularly unsatisfactory, and Hope, getting tired of her airs, said:-- "Joanna, why are you so silent? Don't you hear the bees, and can't you see that great speckled toad under the currant bushes, hopping about? Oh, no, you don't like such things. You prefer flowers. Well," after a pause, "so do I. And I do love you, you dear, dear dolly." And she hugged her in her arms. A slight crackling of the bushes and a scornful laugh caused Hope to start and look up, just as a lad of about twelve years of age presented himself on the other side of the hedge. He was a big, fair-haired boy, handsome, but rough looking, and rude as a young bear. "What do you do that for, you little silly? That old doll don't know anything! Come, and let's play something." Hope looked at him with wide-open eyes.