tic burglar-alarm in the kitchen. She ought to
have taken out a patent on that invention!"

He looked about him, first at his house, then at mine. "How small the
orchard is now," he mused. "The trees are like little old women. And
look at Crow's Nest--it used to be a hundred feet high."

The oak he pointed at still bore in its upper branches the remains of
our tree-top retreat, a rotted beam or two straddling a crotch. "Peter
Pan should rebuild it," said I. "I shall drop a line to Wendy. Do you
still hesitate to turn over in bed?"

"Always," Old Hundred confessed. "I do turn over now, but it was years
before I could bring myself to do it. I wonder where we got that
superstition that it brought bad luck? If we woke in the night, up in
Crow's Nest, and wanted to shift our positions, we got up and walked
around the foot of the mattress, so we could lie on the other side
without turning over. Remember?"

I nodded. Then the well-curb caught my eye. It was over the well we
dug where old Solon Perkins told us to. Solon charged three dollars
for the advice. He came with a forked elm twig, cut green, and holding
the prongs tightly wrapped round his hands so that the base of the
twig stuck out straight, walked back and fourth over the place,
followed by my father and mother, and Old Hundred's father and mother,
and Cap'n Charles and Betsy, and all the boys for a mile around,
silently watching for the miracle. Finally the base of the twig bent
sharply down. "Dig there," said Solon. He examined the twig to see if
the bark was twisted. It was, so he added, "Bent hard. Won't have ter
dig more'n ten foot." We dug twenty-six, but water came. And such
water!

"I want some of that water," said I. "I don't want to go into the
house; I don't even know who lives in it now. But I must have some of
that water."

We went up to the well and lowered the bucket, which slid bounding
down against the cool stones till it hit the depths with a dull
splash. As we were drinking, an old man came peering out of the house.
Old Hundred recognized him first.

"Well, Clarkie Poor, by all that's holy!" he cried. "We've come to get
our hair cut."

Clarkson Poor blinked a bit before recognition came. "Yes," he said,
"I bought the old place a couple o' year back, arter them city folks
you sold it to got sick on it. Too fer off the trolley line for them.
John's house over yon some noo comers 'a' got. They ain't changed it
none. This is about the only p