e observed, keeps always the same.
Its specific gravity is that of distilled water--1.000 deg.; and though,
to be sure, it upset me, three weeks back, by flying up to 1.005 deg., I
think that must have come from the heavy thunderstorms and floods of
rain that lately visited us and no doubt imported some ingredients
that had no business there. As for its temperature, I will select a
note or two of the observations I made with a Fahrenheit thermometer
this last year:--

_June 12th_.--Temperature in shade of well, 62 deg.; of water, 51 deg..

_August 25th_.--In shade of well (at noon), 73 deg.; of water, 52 deg..

_November 20th_.--In shade of well, 43 deg.; of water, 52 deg..

_January 1st_.--External air, 56 deg.; enclosure, 53 deg.; water, 52 deg..

_March 11th_.--A bleak, sunless day. Temperature in shade of well, at
noon, 54 deg.; water, 51 deg.. The _Chrysosplenium Oppositiflorium_ in rich
golden bloom within the enclosure.

But the spring has other properties besides its steady temperature. I
was early abroad in my garden last Thursday week, and in the act of
tossing a snail over my box hedge, when I heard some girls' voices
giggling, and caught a glimpse of half-a-dozen sun-bonnets gathered
about the well. Straightening myself up, I saw a group of maids
from the village, and, in the middle, one who bent over the water.
Presently she scrambled to her feet, glanced over her shoulder and
gave a shrill scream.

I, too, looked up the lane and saw, a stone's throw off, the
schoolmaster advancing with long and nervous strides. He was furiously
angry.

"Thomasine Slade," said he, "you are as shameless as you are
ignorant!"

The girl tossed her chin and was silent, with a warm blush on her
cheek and a lurking imp of laughter in her eye. The schoolmaster
frowned still more darkly.

"Shameless as well as ignorant!" he repeated, bringing the ferule of
his umbrella smartly down upon the macadam; "and you, Jane Hewitt, and
you, Lizzie Polkinghorne!"

"Why, what's the matter?" I asked, stepping out into the road.

At sight of me the girls broke into a peal of laughter, gathered up
their skirts and fled, still laughing, down the road.

"What's the matter?" I asked again.

"The matter?" echoed the schoolmaster, staring blankly after the
retreating skirts; then more angrily--"The matter? come and look
here!" He took hold of my shirt-sleeve and led me to the well.
Stooping, I saw half-a-dozen pins gleaming in its br