“I ought to 'a' brought a knife, but I was in such a hurry I forgot it.” Eating peaches with the fuzz on was quite too much for Mary so she said, “Thank you, but we'll be starting home in a moment, I'll not have time to eat them. But I am very thirsty, might I have a glass of water?” The girl went up the walk and disappeared into the house. Mary did so want her to come out and draw the water, dripping and cool, from the old well yonder. She came out, went to the well, stooped and filled the glass from the bucket sitting inside the curb. Mary sighed. The tall girl took a step. Then, to the watcher's delight, she threw the water out, pulled the bucket up and emptied it into the trough, and one end of the creaking well-sweep started downward while the other started upward. The bucket was on its way to the cool depths and Mary grew thirstier every second.
The doctor appeared at the door and looked out. Then he came, case in hand, with swift strides down the walk. The gate banged behind him and he untied the horse in hot haste, looking savagely at his wife as he did so.
“I suppose you've asked that girl to bring you a drink.”
“Yes, I did. I'm very thirsty.”
“You ought to have more sense than to want to drink where people have typhoid fever.”
The girl started down the walk with the brimming glass. The doctor climbed into the buggy and turned around.
“For pity's sake! what will she think?”
A vigorous cut from the whip and the horse dashed off down the road. Mary cast a longing, lingering look behind. The girl stood looking after them with open mouth.
“That girl has had enough today to astonish her out of a year's growth,” thought Mary as the buggy bumped against a projecting plank and tore over the bridge at the foot of the hill.
“John, one of the rules of good driving is never to drive fast down hill.” Her spouse answered never a word.