Up to that month the year had been very cold, so cold that even during July there were some evenings when a fire was welcome, while on several days I saw people driving about the roads wrapped up in heavy ulsters.

But with the first day of August all this changed, and suddenly the climate became torrid, the nights especially being extraordinarily hot.

From every quarter of the country came complaints of the great heat, while each issue of the newspapers contained lists of those who had fallen victims to it.
One evening, feeling oppressed in the tree-enclosed park of Ashfields, I strolled out of it into the suburb of which I have spoken.

Almost opposite the private garden of the park stands a board school, and in front of this board school I had laid out an acre of land presented by myself, as a playground and open space for the use of the public.

In the centre of this garden was a fountain that fell into a marble basin, and around the fountain, but at some distance from it, stood iron seats.
To these I made my way and sat down on one of them, which was empty, in order to enjoy the cool sound of the splashing water, about which a large number of children were playing.
Presently, as I sat thus, I lifted my eyes and saw the figure of a man approaching towards the other side of the fountain.