“Toros,” called his father to him, “take Melkon with you to our house and play with him as a brother.”

I was exceedingly pleased with the invitation, and went out with Toros.  When we arrived at Sarkis’s house and entered the garden it seemed as though I were in an entirely new world.  The yard was very pretty, no disorder was to be seen anywhere.  Here and there pretty chickens, geese, and turkeys ran about with their chicks.  On the roof sat doves of the best kinds.  The yard was shaded in places by pretty green trees, the house had a pretty balcony, and under the eaves stood green-painted tubs for catching rain-water.  In the windows different flowers were growing, and from the balcony hung cages of goldfinches, nightingales, and canary birds; in a word, everything I saw was pretty, homelike, and pleasant.

In the kitchen cooking was going on, for thick smoke rose from the chimney.  At the kitchen-door stood Sarkis’s wife, a healthy, red-cheeked, and vigorous woman, apparently about thirty years old.  From the fire that burned on the hearth her cheeks were still more reddened, so that it seemed, as they say, the redness sprang right out of her.  On a little stool on the balcony sat a little girl, who wore, according to the prevailing fashion, a red satin fez on her head.  This was Toros’s sister.  I have seen many beautiful girls in my time, but never a prettier one.  Her name was Takusch.

Getting the mother’s consent, we entered the garden, where we helped ourselves freely to the good fruit and enjoyed the fragrance of many flowers.  At noon, Sarkis came home from the store, and invited me to dinner.  My gaze was continually directed toward the beautiful Takusch.  Oh, well-remembered years!  What a pity it is that they pass by so quickly!  Two or three months later I journeyed to the Black Sea, where I was apprenticed to a merchant, and since that time I have not been in my native city—­for some twenty-four years—­and all that I have told was awakened in my memory in a trice by my meeting with Hripsime.

The old woman was still standing on the site of the choked-up spring, scratching around on the ground with her stick.

“Nurse Hripsime, where is Sarkis and his family now?” I asked.

“Did you know him, then?” she asked, astonished.

“Yes, a little,” I replied.

“Your parents were acquainted with him?”

“No.  I was only once in his house, and then as a boy.”

“Oh, then!  That was his happiest time.  What pleasant times we had in his garden!  Formerly it was not as it is now—­not a trace of their pleasant garden remains.  The house has disappeared.  Look again:  yonder was the kitchen, there the hen-house, there the barn, and here the spring.”

As she spoke she pointed out with her stick each place, but of the buildings she named not a trace was to be seen.