Harry looked at his father with a surprised, troubled, and slightly angry look. The well was on Mr. Goodlow’s land, but had been used from time immemorial by both families, as there was none other near. He began to think the matter was more serious than he had at first supposed.
“I felt this to be unchristian,” continued his father, “and could not bring myself to make the first advance after it.”
“I can hardly believe the story, and will cross-question the girl,” replied Harry.
It turned out to be true, however; the girl had been going to the well, as Deacon Goodlow descended, “all mud,” as she described it, from his buggy, and he seeing her at first seemed inclined to avoid a meeting, but suddenly changing his mind told her angrily never to come there for water again. With all due allowance for kitchen exaggeration, the fact could scarcely be disputed, and Harry suddenly burst forth:
“We will dig a well of our own; I have always hated dependence for anything, even on her father, and then we’ll see—”
What they would see was not very clear, except that they would see the well built, for Harry, with his usual impetuosity, at once set about making the necessary arrangements, his new position enabling him to supply the requisite means. He engaged the men and selected the spot that very evening.
Next day the well was commenced and advanced rapidly towards completion, the water for family use being carted in the mean time from a distance in barrels. What the deacon over the way must have thought when he saw the excavation progressing and the water cart regularly every morning passing in front of his door, no one knows; for not a word did he say. He could not have had an easy conscience nor a pleasant time, however, for Harry had not put his foot on the premises, and consequently Katy’s eyes were almost as full of water as the barrel.
It was a long way down to the region of water, and if truth, as is generally believed, lies so deep, there is no wonder it is rarely reached; but the effort was at length successful, and when the liquid vein was struck the crystal fluid proved plentiful, half filling the deep well.
The water carts ceased their journey, the workmen were discharged, Deacon Hartley had a well of his own, Harry felt independent; but there was something else wanted. The latter had not exactly evaded Katy, who he knew was pining to see him, but, feeling his pride hurt, had not taken as great pains as he might to have thrown himself accidentally in her way. She had felt this neglect, and now when his pride was satisfied hers was aroused, and she kept herself carefully in-doors.
It took a week to build the well, and a week had elapsed since—that was two weeks of misery, all because the fish did not bite as they should have done, and neglected scientific allurements for less artistic attractions. Deacon Goodlow was miserable, because Katy looked unhappy and reproachful, occasionally enforcing her reproaches with a sob or two. Deacon Hartley was miserable, partly because he was ashamed of himself and partly because it went against his whole nature to quarrel; Katy was miserable, because her lover had neglected her, and she had had no chance to disobey her father’s injunctions not to see him; Harry was the most miserable of the party now that the excitement of achieving his independence was over, because he missed the presence of his lady-love, and knew in his heart he had vented a little of his anger by neglecting her.