She took them all over the house, up stairs and down, and such a lot of quaint, queer old things the girls had never seen. Candle sticks hundreds of years old, cradles, dishes, andirons, pitchers, dresses, chairs, sewing baskets, spinning wheels, looms, knitting racks, tables, rugs—everything that one could think of as interesting and old seemed to be crowded into that one small house. Mary Jane looked and looked and looked till everything she saw seemed a confusion of queer old things.
“I think I’d better stop looking, Mother,” she said finally, “’cause the looks get all mixed up in my head.”
“You’re right, Mary Jane,” said Mrs. Merrill sympathetically, “I’m getting tired looking myself. Let’s go out into the garden and eat our luncheon.”
Nobody, looking at the outside of the house, would have even guessed of the lovely garden behind the wall. There was an old well with its windlass and sweep, several gnarled old trees and shrubs and bushes and flowers in every corner. The little old lady was persuaded to come out into the sunshine and share the luncheon with them and she told them, while they ate, tales of the many famous folks who had visited this very same garden and picnicked by this very same well.
Then, after they had finished eating, she showed Mary Jane how folks, years ago, used to draw water from that same old well.
“I think it’s lots more fun to get water out of a well this way than to turn on a faucet,” said Mary Jane as she tried the windlass herself and drew up a brimming bucket.
“But what would you think,” asked Mrs. Merrill, “of getting up early in the morning and coming out to draw the water for your bath?”
“Well,” said Mary Jane doubtfully, “I’d think that would be different.”
“I guess it would be,” laughed Alice, “I know I’d think so!”
“Now I must get back to my work,” said the little lady. “But make yourselves at home here. And remember, the girls may pick flowers if they wish.” And she went back into the house.