Martha shook her head. "You can only wish once—according to the story ... but mind you, I don't say there's any truth in it, one way or the other."
"But don't you know anyone else who has wished and who has had their wish granted?" asked Pamela, to whom the idea appealed strongly.
"I can't truthfully say I do—not for certain," said Martha. "Though I knows several what have said such and such a thing has happened because they wished it to—down the well—and it's their wish come true.... But how do I know they're speaking the truth? Eh? They mustn't tell what they've wished till it does come true, or else it won't come true at all. And when a thing happens, it's easy enough to say you wished it to, isn't it? ... So you see you can't rely on no one—not knowing how honest they are—but can only try for yourself and see."
"I should love to have a wish," said Pamela, gazing thoughtfully into the glowing kitchen fire. "I like to believe I believe in Wishing Wells, and goblins and spells and enchantments and things like that, but I'm not really sure that I do.... Anyway, I think we might all go up Long Lane on a moonlight night, and have a wish—just in case it really is a Wishing Well.... I'm sure Beryl will love the idea—they all will, I think. You'll tell us just what to do, won't you, Martha?"
Martha laughed. "Yes, indeed," she said. "But, mind you, I don't say there's anything in it."
The outcome of this conversation was an excursion up Long Lane a few nights later when the moon was at the full. All four girls entered into the spirit of the adventure in high spirits, though Caroline rather spoilt the romantic glamour that Pamela had conjured up by insisting on wearing her goloshes in case she got her feet wet in the damp grass.
"Oh, Caroline, how can you! We ought not to speak of such things as goloshes—practical, matter-of-fact, everyday goloshes—in the same breath as Wishing Wells," said Pamela, in a mock tragic voice. "But still, I suppose it's very sensible of you," she added, laughing.
The four girls started off up Long Lane, chatting and laughing, each with a piece of paper and pencil to write her wish when the well was reached. It would be so much more romantic, Pamela said, to write it beside the well in the moonlight, rather than beside the dining-room table in the gaslight.
"I hope you each know what you're going to wish," said Isobel. "It'll be too chilly to stand about making up our minds when we get there."
Long Lane stretched from the blacksmith's forge, that stood on the same side of Barrowfield Green as Chequertrees, past Tom Bagg's house, and up the hill to a small inn, and a handful of scattered cottages a mile and a half away. The lane was set with high hedges on either side, and was a gradual ascent all the way.