a short way down the road, a gate; and through the gate and behind some
trees, the white gleam of a building. But better than all, he saw,
between the gate and the building, a red pump! Then the blindness and
pain descended again, and he stumbled on more by faith than by sight;
blundering through the half-open gate, his precarious course directed
wholly by the pump's exceeding redness, which shone like a beacon
fire ahead.

Fortunately, it was a real pump with real water and a sucker in good
standing, warranted to need no priming. At the stroke of the red handle
the good, cool water gurgled and arose with a delightful "plop!" It
splashed from the spout freely upon the face and hands of the victim of
the long hill--delicious, life-giving! The delight it brought seemed
compensation almost for heat and pain and weariness. Callandar felt that
if he could only let its sweetness stream indefinitely over his closed
eyes it would wash away the blindness and the ache. Perhaps--

"I am afraid I cannot allow you to use this pump!" said a crisp voice
primly. "This is not," with capital letters, "a Public Pump!"

Callandar wiped the surplus water from his face and looked up. There,
beside him in the yellow haze of his semi-blindness, stood the owner of
the voice. She appeared to be clothed in white, tall and commanding.
Surrounded by the luminous mist, her appearance was not unlike that of a
cool and capable avenging angel.

"This pump," went on the angel with nice precision, "is not for the use
of pedestrians."

"Ah!" said the pedestrian.