“I don’t care. He wanted to drown me; he didn’t know I can’t die by water.” “Can’t you?” I said. “Of course not. I’m a changeling!” She said it with a childish seriousness that confounded me. “What made you one?” I asked. “The fairies,” she said, “and that’s why I’m here.” I was too bewildered to pursue the subject further. “How did you fall in there?” I asked. “I saw some little fish, like klinkents of rainbow, and wanted to catch them; then I slipped and soused.” “Well,” I said, “where are you going now?” “With you,” she answered. I offered no resistance. I gave no thought to results, or to what my father would say when this grotesque young figure should break into his presence. Mechanically I started for home and she walked by my side, chatting. Jason strode in our rear, whistling. “What a brute he must be!” she said once, jerking her head backward. “Leave him alone,” I said, “or we shall quarrel. What’s a girl like you to him?” I think she hardly heard me, for the whistle had dropped to a very mellow note. To my surprise I noticed that she was crying. “I thought changelings couldn’t cry?” I said. “I tell you water does not affect me,” she answered, sharply. “What a mean spy you are--for a boy.” I was very angry at that and strode on with black looks, whereupon she edged up to me and said, softly: “Don’t be sore with me, don’t.” I shrugged my shoulders. “Let’s kiss and be friends,” she whispered. For the first time in my life I blushed furiously. “You beast,” I said, “to think that men would kiss!” She gave me a sounding smack on the shoulder and I turned on her furiously. “Oh, yes!” she cried, “hit out at me, do! It’s like you.” “I won’t touch you!” I said. “But I won’t have anything more to do with you,” and I strode on, fuming. She followed after me and presently I heard her crying again. At this my anger evaporated and I turned round once more. “Come on,” I said, “if you want to, and keep a civil tongue in your head.” Presently we were walking together again. “What’s your home, Renny?” she asked, by and by. “A mill,” I answered, “but nothing is ground there now.” She stopped and so did I, and she looked at me curiously, with her red lips parted, so that her teeth twinkled. “What’s the matter?” said I. “Nothing,” she said, “only I remember an old, old saying that the woman told me.” “What woman?” I asked, in wonder, but she took no notice of my question, only repeated some queer doggerel that ran somewhat as follows: “Where the mill race is Come and go faces. Once deeds of violence; Now dust and silence. Thither thy destiny Answer what speaks to thee.” CHAPTER III. THE MILL AND THE CHANGELING. The outer appearance of the old mill in which we lived and grew up I have touched upon; and now I take up my pen to paint in black and white the old, moldering interior of the shell.