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 In mid May, the previous Spring a year back, my woman and I made our yearly excursion to the shores of Lake Erie, to the little town of her childhood, Silver Creek. It lies in what is unobtrusively called "the grape belt", considering the way that the southern shores of that lake give the ideal climate conditions to developing the Concord Grape, among different sorts of comparable grapes. Unmistakably so to talk is Westfield, NY where Mr. Welch set up his grape juice space. We go there each Spring since we expected to open up the little house, left to her by her late mother, facilitated on the sea shore in Hanford Bay, a piece of the ward of Silver Creek, to set it up for the leaseholders. The climate was not truly warm, and we had made structures for the gas man to come that very day to introduce the meter and turn on the gas so we would have a little warmth. We in addition were enduring the water would be turned on at about a near time. Obviously, one is uncovered before t