find out, sooner or later, that all men have to do just
what women wish."

Mark opened his incredulous eyes, and inwardly resolved that this
should never be the case with him; and considering that Bradford was
only eighteen it is somewhat remarkable that he should have gained so
much wisdom, either by observation or experience, at so early an age.

"Mark says," chimed in Rosamond, "that there is a dragon at the bottom
of the well; and I want to see him."

"A dragon?" cried Bradford,--"Mark is a story-teller, and you are a
goose;--but if there is one, I will catch him for you";--and he stood
on the brink of the well, and sportively threw his line into it.

"You are a pretty fellow to talk about catching a dragon, Brad!"
retorted Mark, a little nettled at the tone in which Bradford spoke of
him,--"you can't even catch a shiner!"--and he glanced at Bradford's
empty basket.

Bradford laughed louder than before. "And for that very reason I expect
to catch the dragon. One kind of a line will not catch all kinds of
fish; and this line may be good for nothing but dragons, after
all.--There! I've got a bite. Stand back, Rosy," cried he, "the dragon
will be on the grass in a minute."

Bradford tried to pull up his line, but it was either entangled among
the stones, or had some heavy object attached to it, for the rod bent
beneath the weight as he with a strong pull endeavored to draw up his
prize. Rosamond's eyes opened to their widest extent, and, fully
expecting to see the dragon swinging wide-mouthed in the air over her
head, drew a little closer to Mark, who, on his part, wondered what
Bradford was at, and whether he was not playing some trick upon him.

When the end of the line rose to the top of the well, they saw
suspended by the two hooks, not a winged, scaly monster, but a small
rusty box, in the fastenings of which the hooks had caught.

Rosamond drew a long breath,--"Is that all, Bradford? I am so sorry! I
thought, to be sure, you had the dragon."

"Never mind the dragon, Rosy," cried he; "let us see what I have
caught.

"Who knows but the purse of Fortunatus or the slipper of Cinderella may
be in here?--they have been lost for many a day, and nobody knows where
they are."

Bradford knelt down on the grass, and, unhooking his line, strove to
undo the rusty hasp; but it resisted all the efforts of his fingers,
and it was only by the aid of a knife and a stone that he opened the
box. In it was a morocco cas