"Good!" I exclaimed, clapping my hands, whereat her tenseness vanished, and her bearing became like one who is somewhat confused, but happy. "Don't forget that, now. Always say 'I came.' Many of your words are not words at all, but fearful corruptions which long use and carelessness have made worse. Then you drop your 'gs' outrageously, but that is a fault you'll overcome by practice." Thus for an hour we sat on the narrow bench under the tall pine, while I made her answer question after question in her own way, then had her say them again the right way. Her aptness was amazing. Her mind seemed to seize and absorb the elemental instruction I gave her as a parched plant does moisture. She remained constantly intent, alert, ready; and when at length the slowly deepening shadows warned me that she should be going, and I told her the lesson for the day was over, I saw that she was agitated, excited, and her eyes shone as if brightened by wine. "Oh, you're a capital pupil!" I complimented, warmly, as we arose and stood for a moment side by side. "Now how would you answer me, Dryad?" She cast me a sidewise glance; partly mischievous, partly shy, partly earnest. "I'm glad!" she said, quickly. I knew that she had evaded my trap cleverly, and I did not lay another for her. "Now you must go." I spoke reluctantly, for the hour had been an unusually charming one for me. I had always maintained that I had rather be a roadmender than a school teacher, and generally speaking, I hold to the idea still. But I can think of no more delightfully pleasant experience that has ever come my way than when I gave Lessie her first instruction under the pine on the edge of the plateau. At my words the shadow sprang to her face again, more noticeable than before. It was almost a look of distress now. "What is it, Dryad?" I asked, suddenly; "what worries you?" She did not answer, but stood meditatively with the tips of her fingers resting upon her lower lip, and her eyes intently focussed downward. "Come," I added; "I must get some water from the creek, and I'll go that far with you--farther, if you will let me, because it will be late before you get home." "Oh, no!" she burst out, with what looked like unnecessary vehemence. Then her agile mind took a turn, and she added--"But why don't yo' git yo' water out o' the well?" I forebore to correct her. The lesson was over, and I must not worry her. "Well?" I repeated, open mouthed. "What well?" "The well over yonder--the well the man dug!" She pointed to a distant corner of the yard, overrun with a heterogeneous mass of greenery. I almost gasped. A well had been here under my nose all these weeks, a well of cool, good water, and I had been slaving rebelliously to supply my needs from the creek below, which had lately become infested with tadpoles! "Show it to me!" I cried.