Ceres used to grow wheat, wheat "in great plenty," but now she could be
persuaded to grow nothing but potatoes.

All this and much more we learned from a friend who drew up beside us in
a buggy, as I was drinking from a gleaming thread of water gliding down a
mossed conduit of hollowed tree-trunks into an old cauldron sunk into the
hillside, and long since turned in ferns and lichen. Colin was seated
near by making a sketch, as I drank.

"I wouldn't drink too much of that water, lads," said the friendly voice
of the dapper little intelligent-faced man in the buggy.

What! not drink this fairy water?

"Why, you country folk are as afraid of fresh water as you are of fresh
air," I answered, laughing.

"All right, it's up to you--but it's been a dry Summer, you know."

And then the little man's attention was taken by Colin.

"Sketching?" he asked, and then he said, half shyly, "Would you mind my
taking a look how you do it?" and, climbing down from his buggy, he came
and looked over Colin's shoulder. "I used to try my hand at it a bit when
I was a boy, but those blamed trees always beat me ... don't bother you
much, seemingly though," he added, as he watched Colin's pencil with the
curiosity of a child.

"I've a little girl at home who does pretty well," he continued after a
moment, "but you've certainly got her skinned. I wish she could see you