n and my coat hung ever more loosely over my ribs.
Pale and languid I longed for spring, for sunshine, with all the passion
of a prisoner, and when at last the grass began to show green in the
sheltered places on the Common and the sparrows began to utter their
love notes, I went often of an afternoon to a bench in lee of a clump of
trees and there sprawled out like a debilitated fox, basking in the
tepid rays of a diminished sun.

For all his expressed admiration of my literary and scientific acumen,
Brown did not see fit to invite me to dinner, probably because of my
rusty suit and frayed cuffs. I did not blame him. I was in truth a
shabby figure, and the dark-brown beard which had come upon me added to
the unhealthy pallor of my skin, so that Mrs. Brown, a rather smart and
socially ambitious lady, must have regarded me as something of an
anarchist, a person to avoid. She always smiled as we met, but her smile
was defensive.

However, a blessed break in the monotony of my fare came during April
when my friend Bashford invited me to visit him in Portland. I accepted
his invitation with naive precipitation and furbished up my wardrobe as
best I could, feeling that even the wife of a clergyman might not
welcome a visitor with fringed cuffs and celluloid collars.

This was my first sea voyage and I greatly enjoyed the trip--after I got
there!

Mrs. Bashford received me kindly, but (I imagined) with a trace of
official hospitality in her greeting. It was plain that she (like Mrs.
Brown) considered me a "Charity Patient." Well, no matter, Bashford and
I got on smoothly.

Their house was large and its grandeur was almost oppressive to me, but
I spent nearly a week in it. As I was leaving, Bashford gave me a card
to Dr. Cross, a former parishioner in Jamaica Plain, saying, "Call upon
the Doctor as soon as you return. He'll be glad to hear of Dakota."

My little den in Boylston Place was almost intolerable to me now. Spring
sunshine, real sunshine flooded the land and my heart was full of
longing for the country. Therefore--though I dreaded meeting another
stranger,--I decided to risk a dime and make the trip to Jamaica Plains,
to call upon Dr. Cross.

This ride was a further revelation of the beauty of New England. For
half an hour the little horse-car ran along winding lanes under great
overarching elm trees, past apple-orchards in bursting bloom. On every
hand luscious lawns spread, filled with crocuses and dandelio