“Because you upset the raft and the ice cream fell into the river!” giggled Migwan. Calvin gasped. The very thing that was nearly killing him with chagrin was the cause of her mirth! It was the first time he had ever seen anyone make light of a calamity. Her mirth was so contagious that he began to laugh himself. Still laughing, he brought the tub out of the river and set it on the bank. The water had washed away the packing of ice, but the lid on the inner can was providentially tight and the ice cream was unharmed. That little incident crystallized the friendship between the two. After that he was Migwan’s slave. A girl who could be thrown into the river without getting vexed was a friend worth having. Dripping, they returned to the house, where the preparations for the party were at their height, to be laughed at immoderately and christened the “Water Babies.”
To Hinpoha the Artistic had been entrusted the setting of the tables. Her decorations were water lilies from the river, and when she had finished it looked as if a feast had been spread for the river nymphs. Around the edges of the platter she put bunches of bright mint leaves. Her artistic efforts called out so much praise from the guests that she was in a continual state of blushing as she waited on the table.
“What’s the matter with your hand?” asked Migwan, noticing that she was passing things around left handedly.
“Nothing,” said Hinpoha, “nothing much. I slipped when I was getting the lilies and fell on my wrist and it feels lame, that’s all.”
“Is it sprained?” asked Migwan.
“Oh, no,” said Hinpoha, “I don’t think so.”
“It’s all swelled up,” said Migwan, holding up the injured wrist. “Let me paint it with iodine and tie it up for you.”
Hinpoha maintained that it was nothing serious, but Migwan insisted. “Where is the iodine, mother?” she asked.
“On the pantry shelf,” answered Mrs. Gardiner. Migwan got the bottle and painted Hinpoha’s wrist before the party could proceed. Hinpoha surveyed the brown stripe around her arm rather disgustedly. It was for this very reason that she had said nothing about the wrist before. She did not want it painted up for the party. It offended her artistic eye and she would rather suffer in silence.
While the guests were sitting at the tables Gladys danced on the lawn for their entertainment. The merry laughter was hushed in surprise and delight at her fairylike movements. In the silence which reigned at this time the thing which happened was distinctly heard by everyone. Apparently from the depths of the earth there came a muffled thud, thud, as of a pick striking against hard ground. It kept up for a few minutes and then ceased, to be renewed again after a short interval. The dwellers at Onoway House looked at each other. Into each mind there sprang the story of the Deacon’s well, and the words of Farmer Landsdowne, “Superstitious folks say you can still hear the buried well digger striking with his pick against the ground that covers him.” It was the most mysterious sound, far away and faint, yet seemingly right under their very feet. Gladys heard it and paused in her dancing. Pointer and Mr. Bob both heard it and began to bark. In a little while the thudding noise ceased and was heard no more, and the company were all left wondering if they could have been the victims of imagination.