I found one of the camp doctors who remembered that accursed year of plague--an old man, withered, indifferent, sleeping his days away on the rotting gallery of his tumble-down house.

_He_ knew.

.

.

.
And I found some of the militia still surviving; and one among them retained a confused memory of my mother--among the horrors of that poisonous year----" He lay silent, considering; then: "I was old enough to remember, but not old enough to understand what I understood later.