"The walk is nothing, so the ride is not too much for you," answered Andrew. "As for Vevette, I know she minds walking no more than the old pony here." "Very polite, to compare me to a pony," said I, pretending to pout. "But I shall like to see the old house. Does any one live in it?" "Only the woman who cares for it; and she is worth seeing too," answered Andrew. "Is not this the old dame's cottage?" It was, and the dame was within, groaning grievously with the colic; but no sooner did she take the hare's-foot into her hand, such was the virtue of the remedy or the effect of her faith in it, than she was presently quite easy. "Do you suppose it really helped her?" I asked, when we were again on our way. "Nay, that I cannot say," said Andrew. "'Tis an old notion, and for aught I know may have some virtue in it. At all events, it hath this advantage over some other medicaments, that if it does no good it can do no harm." "What is there so odd about the housekeeper at the Well House?" I asked, when we had gone on a little. "You will easily discover that when you see her," answered Andrew. "But aside from her person, there is something peculiar in the manner of her appearance among us. She was found when a little child, wandering upon the sea-shore early one morning after a great storm of thunder and wind. She was very small, but from her ways it was judged she must be three or four years old, for she could speak plainly, though in a language none understood. She was somewhat richly dressed, and had about her neck a thin gold chain and the image of some bird wrought in the same metal. The folk thought her a fairy changeling or else a sea-maid, and were almost afraid of her; but an old couple then living in the Well House took her in and brought her up as their own. She well repaid their care, having been a most dutiful daughter to them. She hath never married, and now that the old folks are dead, she lives in the Well House, to take care of it. She is an odd little body, but very faithful and honest." We had by this time come in sight of the Well House, as it was called, which stood in its own little coombe opening down to the sea at the very mouth of Tre Madoc valley. It was a pretty little old house, built of warm red stone and shadowed by a great walnut-tree and an ash. At a little distance, and indeed almost joining the house, was a very tiny ruined chapel or oratory, such as one often sees by the roadside in France. A small bright stream ran through the garden, which was pretty though rather wild and overgrown. I took a fancy to the place at once. "It hath not changed in the least," said my mother; "only the trees are grown and the old chestnut is away. What hath become of it?" "It blew down a few years since in a great storm," answered Andrew. "I made a cabinet and table of the wood, which are now in the house."