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I relinquished the pitcher instantly. Esculapius was right; something had happened. The well was gone, but in its place I had found something a thousand times more refreshing. When my husband returned, he found me sitting breathless and absorbed under the acacias.

“Hush!” I said, with upraised finger; “listen!”

Our host and the colonel were talking as they worked at the well.

“We’ve had glorious meetings this week over at Gospel Swamp, Jarvis,” the minister was saying. “I looked for you every night. If you could just come over and hear the singing, and have some of the good brothers and sisters pray with you, don’t you think”–

“Why, God bless your soul, man!” interrupted the colonel; “don’t you know I’m religious? I’m with you right along, as to first principles, that is; but, you see, I can’t quite go the Methodist doctrine. I was raised a Presbyterian, you know,–regular black-and-blue Calvinist,–and what a fellow takes in with his mother’s milk sticks by him. I’m attached to the old ideas,–infant damnation, and total depravity, and infernal punishment, and the interference of the saints. You fellows over at the Swamp are loose! Why, by–the way, my mother used to say to me, in her delicate, squeaky voice: ‘Robert, beware of Methodists; they’re loose, my son, loose as a bag of bones.’ No, indeed, I wouldn’t want you to think me indifferent to religion; religion’s my forte. Why, by–and by, I mean to start a Presbyterian church right here under your nose.”

“I’m glad of it,” responded the minister warmly; “you’ve no idea how glad I am, Jarvis.”

“Why, man alive, that church is in my mind day and night. I want to get about forty good, pious Presbyterian families to settle around here, and I’ll bore wells for ’em, and talk up the church business between times. You saw me carrying that lady’s pitcher for her this morning, didn’t you? Well, by–the way, that was a religious move entirely. I took her man for a Presbyterian preacher the minute I struck the ranch; maybe it’s poor health gives him that cadaverous look, but you can’t most always tell. More likely it’s religion. At any rate”–

Esculapius retreated in wild disorder, and did not appear again until supper-time. When that meal was finished, Colonel Jarvis followed me as I walked to the piazza.

“If it ain’t presuming, madam,” he said confidentially, “I’d like to ask your advice. I take it you’re from the city, now?”

“Yes,” I answered, with preternatural gravity; “what makes you think so?”

“Well, I knew it by your gait, mostly. A woman that’s raised in the country walks as if she was used to havin’ the road to herself; city women are generally good steppers. But that ain’t the point. I’m engaged to be married!”

My composure under this announcement was a good deal heightened by the fact that Esculapius, who had sauntered out after us, whistling to himself, became suddenly quiet, and disappeared tumultuously.

“Engaged to be married!” I said. “Let me congratulate you, Colonel. May I hope to see the fortunate young lady?”

“That depends. You see, I’m in a row,–the biggest kind of a row, by–a good deal; and I thought you might give me a lift. She’s a ‘Frisco lady, you know; one of your regular high-flyers; black eyes, bangs, no end o’ spirit. You see, she was visitin’ over at Los Nietos, and we made it up, and when she went back to ‘Frisco I thought I’d send her a ring; so I bought this,” fumbling in his pocket, and producing the most astounding combination of red glass and pinchbeck; “and, by godfrey! she sent it back to me. Now, I don’t see anything wrong about that ring; do you?”

“It is certainly a little–well, peculiar, at least, for an engagement ring; perhaps she would like something a trifle less showy. Ladies have a great many whims about jewelry, you know.”

“Exactly. That is just what I reflected. So I went and bought this ” (triumphantly displaying a narrow band); “now that’s what I call genteel; don’t you? Well, if you’ll believe it, she sent that back, too, by–return mail. I wish I’d fetched you the letter she wrote; if it wasn’t the spiciest piece of literature I ever read by–anybody. ‘She’d have me understand she wasn’t a barmaid nor a Quaker; and if I didn’t know what was due a lady in her position, I’d better find out before I aspired to her hand,’ et cetery. Oh, I tell you, she’s grit; no end o’ mettle. So, you see, I’ve struck a boulder, and it gets me bad, because I meant to see the parson through with his well here, and then go on to ‘Frisco and get married. Now, if you’ll help me through, and get me into sand and gravel again, and your man decides to settle in these parts, I’ll guarantee you a number one well, good, even two-inch flow, and no expense but pipe and boardin’ hands. I’ll do it, by–some means.”