Colin wrote to him with regard to it and invited him to visit the McPherson place again, but decided to wait before sending a copy to Irene, who was travelling in Europe. Then public curiosity abated a little and waited for what would come next. Nothing came at once. Irene remained abroad and no one knew anything of her. Reginald attended to his business, if he had any, while Colin lived his lonely life at the McPherson place and the affairs in the town went on as usual. With Sandy’s death, however, a fresh impetus had been given to the interest felt by the young people in the charmed well where Nannie had ended her life. “Beats all what fools some of us are,” Sam said, as he finished his story, adding that the swell young man visiting at the McPherson place was Reginald Travers, and “didn’t speak to nobody often, though when he did he was nice as a pin.” Then he stopped for a moment on the top of a hill for me to look down upon the pine-woods in which was the well which bore Nannie’s name. “I don’t believe there’s more than one or two girls hereabouts, or boys either, who hasn’t tried a trick at that well,” he said. “Why, there’s a little box in a hollow pine tree and in it is a small square mirror to hold over the water when the sun is right overhead. I call it rot, and I don’t believe Lottie has ever done such a silly thing.” “Who is Lottie?” I asked, and the crimson on his face and the look in his eyes told me what she was to him before he replied. “Oh, don’t you know? She’s Charlotte Ann, Widow Parks’ girl. I call her Lottie for short. There she is now, in the yard, and that’s the house, with the li-locks in front, and that is our house beyond, with the high board fence. Father and Widow Parks don’t agree very well. Get up, Beauty.” He chirruped to his horse, who took us quickly to the old-fashioned house, whose open doors, and windows with white curtains blowing in and out, and the odor of roses and pinks and lilacs in the garden and yard gave promise of the comfort and rest it was mine to enjoy for two long, happy months. CHAPTER II THE FARM-HOUSE At the sight of us the girl, who was gathering flowers, disappeared, and only Mrs. Parks came forward to meet me, her good-humored face beaming, and her large, helpful hands stretched out to relieve me of my bag and umbrella. “So you brought her?” she said to Sam. “Wall, I’m glad you was there. I was afraid the ’bus wouldn’t go this time of day, and I kinder hoped the McPherson carriage might happen to go down, as I heard they was expectin’ another visitor up to the house, but nobody went by but Mr. Travers on hossback. Come right in. Your room is all ready for you when Charlotte Ann gets a few more flowers. Put up your money. Sam don’t want no pay.”