It was a dark mysterious place, and what it was used for no one exactly knew; but it was called by those who had seen it the Well Hole. Her aunt was blandly amiable above a certain tremulous undertow, and talked as if to a caller about the alarming spread of marigolds that summer at the end of the garden, a sort of Yellow Peril to all the smaller hardy annuals, while her father brought some papers to table and presented himself as preoccupied with them. “Mr. . ‘You have no need to be afraid of us. ’ The girl shook her head violently, setting the feathers on her hat bobbing.
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