Toinette stood, pitcher in hand, beside the well. "Wishing Well," the
people called it, for they believed that if any one standing there
bowed to the East, repeated a certain rhyme and wished a wish, the wish
would certainly come true. Unluckily, nobody knew exactly what the
rhyme should be. Toinette did not; she was wishing that she did, as she
stood with her eyes fixed on the bubbling water. How nice it would be!
she thought. What beautiful things should be hers, if it were only to
wish and to have. She would be beautiful, rich, good--oh, so good. The
children should love her dearly, and never be disagreeable. Mother
should not work so hard--they should all go back to France--which
mother said was si belle. Oh, dear, how nice it would be. Meantime, the
sun sank lower, and mother at home was waiting for the water, but
Toinette forgot that.

Suddenly she started. A low sound of crying met her ear, and something
like a tiny moan. It seemed close by but she saw nothing.

Hastily she filled her pitcher and turned to go. But again the sound
came, an unmistakable sob, right under her feet. Toinette stopped short.

"What is the matter?" she called out bravely. "Is anybody there? and if
there is, why don't I see you?"

A third sob--and all at once, down on the ground beside her, a tiny
figure became visible, so small that Toinette had to kneel and stoop
her head to see it plainly. The figure was that of an odd little man.
He wore a garb of green bright and glancing as the scales of a beetle.
In his mite of a hand was a cap, out of which stuck a long pointed
feather. Two specks of tears stood on his cheeks and he fixed on