[Illustration:  FIRST FLOOR OF THE PROMISE.]

The next morning Jim appeared with the express wagon, and Bessie climbed upon the high seat beside him under the big brown umbrella, her Gainsborough hat encircled with a garland of white daisies, huge bunches of the same blossoms being attached somewhat indiscriminately to her dress by way of imparting a rural air, and together they drove off in search of old and forgotten household gods.  Jill had suggested sending them out to investigate, reporting what they found, and purchasing afterward if thought best, but Jack urged that it would be wiser to secure their treasures at once, lest the thrifty farmers, finding their old heir-looms in demand, should mark up the prices while they were deliberating—­a view with which Bessie fully concurred.

[Illustration:  SECOND FLOOR OF THE PROMISE.]

Beguiling the way with the duet that is always so delightful to the performers, whatever the audience may think of it, they followed the pleasant country roads for many miles without finding a castle that seemed to promise desirable plunder.  A worn-out horseshoe lying in the road was their first prize.  It presaged good luck, and was to be gilded and hung above the library door.  At length they came to a typical old farm-house, gray and weather-beaten, but still dignified and well cared for.  The big barns stood modestly back from the highway, and the yard about the front door, enclosed by a once white picket fence, was filled with the fragrance of cinnamon roses and syringas.  As they drove up at the side of the house across the open lawn, the close cropping of which showed that the cows were wont to take their final bite upon it as they came to the yard at night, they encountered an elderly man carrying a large jug in one hand and apparently just starting for the fields with some refreshing drink for the workmen.

“Good morning, sir,” said Jim, touching his hat.  Bessie smiled and asked, “Are you the farmer?”

“Wal, yes ma’am; I suppose I am.  Leastways I own the farm and get my living off from it as well as I can—­same as my fathers did afore me.”

“How lovely!  Have you got any old—­I mean, can you give us a drink of water?  We—­we happen to be passing and we’re very thirsty.”

“Just as well as not.  The well is right behind the house.  You can jump down and help yourselves.”

“You don’t mean jump down the well,” said Jim, laughing.

“Not exactly.  Will your horse stand?”

“Oh, yes.”

When Bessie saw the old well-sweep, which for some unaccountable reason had not been swept away by a modern pump, she exclaimed in a stage whisper:  “Wouldn’t it be glorious if we could carry it home?”

Jim found the cool water most refreshing and thought he would rather carry home the well.

“What an enormous wood pile,” Bessie continued aloud, in a desperate endeavor to lead up to andirons by an unsuspicious route.  “Do you burn wood?”