“Believe in it? No,” Tom said, “but I’d try it for fun. What do you say, Rena?” “That I mean to try it sometime,” Rena answered. “I’ve heard of such things before, and it’s no worse than eating a thimbleful of salt and going to bed backward so as to dream of some one. I did that once and had a horrid nightmare and woke myself up, calling for water which was just in my reach and which I could not get.” Everybody laughed except Mr. Travers and Irene, who, taking her cue from him, smiled a kind of pitying smile that Rena could be so foolish. Rena saw it, and in a spirit of mischief continued, “Irene did it, too, and slept like a log till I woke her up screaming for water. You remember it? We were at Miss Prentiss’ school, and you hurt your ankle against a rocker, as you were going backward in the dark.” She looked at Irene, who seemed annoyed, but laughed as she answered: “Yes, I do now. There were a lot of us, and we did some foolish things, as schoolgirls are apt to do.” “And neither of you dreamed of the coming man?” Tom asked, while Irene replied: “Neither. Rena might, perhaps, if she had not been so thirsty, and I might if she had not woke me up. I never tried it again.” At this point Mr. Travers consulted his watch. He had heard enough about looking in wells, eating salt and going to bed backward. He knew nothing of girls and their tricks and did not care to know. Irene and Rena were rather frivolous, he feared—Rena more so than Irene, and yet she pleased him the more, he could not tell why. She was a dainty little body, whom either he or Tom could hold in his arms, if he wanted to; and he didn’t blame Tom for being in love with her, as he undoubtedly was. As for Irene, she was very beautiful and graceful and bright, but too tall, with all that hair piled so high on her head, he thought, as, when he arose, saying it was time to go, she too rose and stood beside him. He liked short women better than tall ones, and Irene’s height troubled him, but he gave her his hand and said he hoped she would like Oakfield and that he should see her again, and then he turned to Rena. The moon had risen by this time and was lighting up the yard and road and fields beyond. “Oh, what a lovely night, and so cool now! I almost envy you your walk home,” Irene said, as the party moved to the door and stood upon the piazza. “Why not go with us part of the way? and—by George, that’s just the thing!—let’s go and have a look at Nannie’s Well. You know the way, Miss Bennett. You’ll go and chaperon us,” Tom said, looking at me, who had been but a figure-head, taking little part in the conversation. I had only looked on and listened and watched Mr. Travers and Irene, making up my mind that they were ill suited to each other, he was so reserved and cold, and she so full of dash and push. Too much so, I thought, but possibly contact with him would tone her down, while contact with her might tone him up.