For several days Patricia was so busy thinking, that Arabella felt rather lonely. Arabella had been writing a letter to her Aunt Matilda, and endeavoring to answer all the questions that that peculiar woman had asked. It had occupied her spare time for two days, and was not yet ready to mail.

"O dear!" sighed Arabella, "I don't like to write letters."

"Don't write them," Patricia advised.

"Why, Patricia Levine! You know if I didn't answer Aunt Matilda's letter she'd pack her suit-case, and come right here!"

"Good gracious! Hurry up and finish it," cried Patricia. "I wouldn't want her coming here."

"I've got a cold, so I couldn't go out to mail it," drawled Arabella.

"Don't let that stop you," cried Patricia, "for I'll gladly go out to mail it for you, if it'll keep your Aunt Matilda away."

Later, when Patricia went down the hall on the way to post the letter, she saw that Dorothy's door was slightly ajar. Of course Patricia's sharp eyes saw it, and, because she never could resist the temptation to listen, where she might hear something not intended for her ears, she paused.

Nancy was speaking of the man that she had seen standing at the edge of the forest, on the day of the sleigh-ride. Again she told Dorothy how it had frightened her, adding:

"He looked just like Bonfanti, the ballet-teacher, and I believe if I should look from our window and see him out there, looking toward this house, I'd not dare to go out for days."

Dorothy tried to comfort her, by saying:

"But, Nancy dear, we've not seen him since that day, and he's miles away from here by this time, as likely as not."

Patricia needed to hear no more. She could not make Nancy less popular, but here was a fine chance for annoying her.

It was strange what pleasure it afforded Patricia to make others unhappy! She never seemed to know that in striving to annoy others, she was constantly proving that she herself was disagreeable.

She hastened out to the nearest mail box with the letter, and then returning to her room, sat down to think.

"I wish you'd talk," said Arabella. "It's awful dull this cloudy afternoon."

Patricia was in no mood for talking, and Arabella dared not insist.

It was after dinner when the pupils met in the cheery reception-hall for a little chat before going to their rooms, that Patricia saw her chance, and took it.

Some one asked Nancy if she and Dorothy had been out for their usual walk.

"It seemed a bit raw," she replied, "so we remained in."

Patricia, who had been moving nearer, now stood at Nancy's elbow.

"Did you notice a big, dark man, this morning looking up toward your window?" she asked: "Do you know who he is? We saw him the day of the sleigh-ride, and that was weeks ago. I believe he is always right around here, for I don't know how many times I have seen him. He always simply stares toward your windows. I thought perhaps you knew him."

Nancy turned pale, and Mrs. Marvin, who was near them, saw Dorothy draw Nancy closer as if to protect her.

"Is Nancy ill?" she asked kindly.

Patricia had left the hall when she saw Mrs. Marvin speaking to Dorothy.

Dorothy explained how frightened Nancy had been ever since the sleigh-ride, a few weeks before.

"Come into my apartment and tell me all about this. I am greatly interested," she said.

They were only too glad to escape the curious eyes that now were watching them, and together they told Mrs. Marvin the story of Nancy's career. When they reached the point where Patricia had told them of the man who had stood looking up at their windows that afternoon, a look of relief passed over her face, and she actually laughed.

"You two dear little friends may rest easy to-night," she said, "for the man whom you saw at the edge of the woods, and the man who was here to-day, looking up at your windows, as Patricia said, are one and the same person. He is a man who has made a study of all plant life, and especially wise is he in regard to vines and trees.

"To-day he was trying to decide just what sort of vine would thrive best on this sunny side of the house. His name is not nearly so picturesque as Bonfanti. It is Jonathan Scroggs. Not a fine name, surely, but his name has never hindered him in his profession. He is one of the best florists in the country, he knows all about beautiful vines and trees, and he is also a landscape gardener. He can take a plain little cottage, with a small piece of land, and plant just the right kind of trees on the place, train vines over the porch so as to render it charming, and make the bit of land into a tiny park, so dainty, so altogether lovely that people will come from far and near to see the 'beauty spot.' Now do you care in the least what his name is?"

"Indeed I do not," Dorothy said, firmly.

"And oh, how glad I am that he is not Professor Bonfanti!" Nancy said. "It was silly to be so frightened, but if only you knew how hard those months were when he was training me, and old Uncle Steve was threatening all sorts of things if I did not dance well! You see, I was really ill with fear, and homesickness, and Uncle Steve did not seem to see that the more he threatened, the more ill I became. Oh, if I should talk all day, I could not tell you half the misery of those days. Only yesterday one of the girls said that she would not have minded any of the harsh things if only she could have danced on the stage. That is what she thinks, but she doesn't know!"

"Well, Nancy, to-day you are nervous and tired, but I have quieted all your fears, and assured you that you are safe here at Glenmore. Some day when we can arrange it, I would enjoy hearing more of your little career."

"And I'd be willing to tell you, Mrs. Marvin; you've been so kind, and you've comforted me. I shall sleep to-night without any horrid dreams."

Mrs. Marvin felt that Patricia had really intended to frighten Nancy, and she decided to have a quiet little talk with her, and if possible, learn what had prompted her to do so unkind a thing.

It was an odd combination that "Glenmore," one of the best of schools for girls in the country, modern in every respect, and absolutely "up-to-date," should be situated in a town that was quaint, and picturesque, with inhabitants as fanciful, and superstitious as one would find if he had traveled back a century.

True, there were residents who had recently come to the place for a summer home, but the old people of the place clung to their old time superstitions, their firm belief in "signs," their legends handed down from one generation to another, and the newcomers humored them, listened to their "yarns," and asked to hear more. Many of these stories were quite as interesting as any folk tales, and none could tell them with finer effect than old Cornelia Derby.

It was Marcus who had pointed her out to several of the girls who, one morning, chanced to be standing near the gate as the old woman came up the street.

"Oh, Marcus, do you really mean that she can tell all sorts of quaint stories about this old town?" cried Betty Chase.

"I sure does," said Marcus, "and 'nuffin' pleases her like gittin' a chance ter tell 'em ter folks as is willin' ter listen."

"Now, Valerie," said Betty, turning to her chum, "let's get her to tell us some of the stories she knows about the fine old houses, and the people that once lived in them."

"Fine!" cried Valerie, "but where would we find her?"

"She lives in a little old hut, 'round behin' the hill over there!" said Marcus, "an' all yo' has ter do is ter go up dis street, an' yo'll sure spot it, long 'fore yo' reach it, 'cause the top half er dat hut is red, an' the bottom half is whitewash. It sure looks mighty quare!"

"Let's take a walk over there to-morrow, when our lessons are prepared," said Valerie, "but," she added, "I hope we find it."

"Yo' couldn't miss it," said Marcus, "for all yo' has ter do is ter go up dis street, an' turn ter yo' left, den go a piece, an' turn ter yo' right, an' walk 'til yo' come ter a big yaller house, an' dat's 'bout half-way. Nex' yo' cross a field, skip over de place where de brook is in summer an' come ter a piece er wall, stone wall, 'tis, an' it don't seem ter b'long ter no place 'tall, an' de hut is jes' a little ways beyond."

The sound of a bell sent them hurrying toward the house.

"Do you expect to remember all that?" Valerie asked on the way to the class-room.

"If you do you'll be a wonder. I've forgotten it now."

Betty nodded confidently.

"We'll go over there to-morrow," she said.

The next afternoon, Betty helped Valerie with some puzzling problems that must be solved before starting out.

Then with confidence on Betty's part, and much doubt in Valerie's mind as to their ability to find the hut, they set off on the long walk. After twice enquiring of people whom they met, of taking a long walk in the wrong direction, and retracing their steps, they finally espied the piece of stone wall that seemed to belong to "no place at all," as Marcus had said.

Glad to rest, they paused there to look about them, and to wait for Vera and Elf, who had promised to meet them. Neither was in sight, although they had said that they would be prompt. Snow and ice had fled, and now everywhere were signs of spring. Vera had declared that the long walk was what she needed, and Elf had said that she would endure the walk for the sake of hearing the quaint stories of the town and its people that old Cornelia would tell.

At the end of the wall Betty and Valerie waited.

"I'd not wait much longer," Valerie said.

"I surely will not!" Betty replied, "for if they are coming, they'll be here in a few minutes."

It was evident that the two girls had, for some reason, been detained, and Betty determined to wait no longer.

"Come!" she cried. "We'll go on now to the little hut, and if Vera and Elf come poking along a half-hour later, they can just sit on this wall, and see if they enjoy waiting as well as we did."

It was but a short distance, and they ran part of the way to make up for lost time, but when they reached the gate they found, as Valerie glanced at her tiny watch, that it was later than they thought, and was already about time for them to turn toward Glenmore, if they did not wish to be late.

Hours were strictly kept at the school, and all pupils must return from recreation in time to give themselves personal care, and be in the lower hall at five-thirty for a friendly chat before going to the dining-room at six.

Mrs. Marvin insisted that every pupil look her best at all times.

It was now four o'clock. It would take a half-hour to reach Glenmore. That meant that not more than a half-hour could be spent at the hut.

There was no answer to their repeated knocking, but as they turned to go they saw old Cornelia coming toward them along the road, a big basket on her arm.

"Well, well, two fine little callers I find waiting for me," she said. "And what can I do for you?"

"We wanted you to tell us all about some of the old buildings and the interesting stories about the people who lived in them," said Betty, "but it's so late now that I don't believe there's time. We have to be back at Glenmore at five."

"Then sit right down here on my garden-seat and I'll tell you the shortest tale I know, and some other day if you come when you have more time I'll tell you more."

"Oh, that will be fine!" they cried, as with one voice.

"How would you like to hear about the wishing-well?"

"That sounds great!" declared Betty and then: "Could you begin it with 'Once upon a time?'"

"Surely," was the quick response, "and now I think of it, I'm sure you must have passed the old wishing-well on your way here. The old well was supposed to have magic power, and long ago when the old Paxton House was standing, people came, for miles around, to be near the old well in the garden, and wish for their heart's desire, feeling sure that their wish would be granted.

"Of course the idea was absurd, but the townspeople of those days were superstitious, so that if those things that they wished for beside the well never came to them, they thought that they must have forgotten to ask for them in the right way, and later they would try again.

"If they obtained the thing that they had wished for, they laid their good fortune entirely to the fact that the old well must have approved of them."

"And where is it!" Valerie asked. "You said that we must have passed it."

"The old well has a flat wooden cover over it now, with an iron bar to keep it in place, lest some one be careless and fall in, though now the wild blackberry vines have nearly hidden it from sight. Even now when only young leaves are on the brambles, the thorny stems make a network over the cover. The old Paxton House was gone before my time," Mrs. Derby said, "but a part of its fine wall remains. It was upon that wall that the wishers sat.

"Did you happen to notice a fine piece of wall that seemed to belong to no one at all, and ended in a broad field?"

"The idea!" cried Betty. "Why we sat on that piece of wall, and could have 'wished' just as well as not, if only we'd known it."

"And it's almost half-past four now," said Valerie. "S'pose we run along toward Glenmore, and stop just long enough to sit on the wall and wish. We can be on time at five, if we do that. Then we could come over some day when we've more time, and hear all about the well, and other stories, too."

It was a good idea, because it was already so late that they could remain but a few moments longer, so with an urgent invitation to come again, and a promise to do so, they ran back to the old wall, looking back to wave their hands to the little woman who waved in return.