hick
and Solomon; they were in high good-humor, and not at all disposed for
quarrel or suspicion. Harry had always been the mistress of her own
movements, and she went, as usual, whither she liked, and Richard went
with her.

The spring was advancing, and brought its soft hues even to the barren
moors of Gethin, and bathed its gray rocks in sunshine. There was much
to see that was worth seeing, and who so fit as Harry to point out these
objects of attraction with which she had been familiar from her
childhood? They strolled along the beach to Polwheel, and she snowed him
how the harbor there had been silted up through the wrath of the
mermaids, or "merry maids," as she called them, still (under favorable
circumstances) sometimes seen sitting on the slate cliff ledges beneath
the clear blue sea. Far from ridiculing her superstitions, he led her on
to talk of them; he did not much mind what she talked about so long as
he could look at her and listen.

"But why were the Polwheel mermaids so cruel, Harry? I always imagine
them bright and beautiful beings, with golden hair almost as long as
yours, and with nothing to do but to comb it."

"That is so, when they are let alone," said Harry, simply; "but even the
weakest creatures love revenge, and will get it if they can."

"And quite right too," interrupted Richard; "but for fear of that the
strong would be more uncivil even than they are."

"Well, a mermaid was once cruelly treated by a Polwheel man--he fell in
love with her, and deserted her--and then her sisters choked up the
harbor bar."

"But how did he come to court the mermaid? That must have been
difficult; though, if I saw you sitting under water yonder, I should
certainly dive, and try."

"You would have no breath to make me pretty speeches then," said Harry,
demurely. "This mermaid was, however, a changed child. A Polwheel woman
was bathing her infant in the pool yonder beneath that arched rock, when
it suddenly gave a cry of joy, and leaped from her arms into the sea.
She thought it was drowned, but it came up the next instant more
beautiful and bright than ever. She did not herself know but that it was
her own child, but there were old folks in the town who knew that it was
in reality a mermaid's changeling. She grew up to be a lovely woman, and
the Squire of Polwheel at that time--for his race has died out
since--fell in love with her; he treated her very ill, and she died
broken-hearted, at Gethin, and