"There you are wrong," said Martin, "for on the contrary no love-story
has ever been told twice. I never heard any tale of lovers
that did not seem to me as new as the world on its first morning. I
am glad you have a taste for love-stories."

"We have not," said Joscelyn, very quickly.

"No, indeed!" cried her five fellows.

"Then shall it be some other kind of tale?"

"No other kind will do," said Joscelyn, still more quickly.

"We must all bear our burdens," said Martin; "so let us make
ourselves as happy as we can in an apple-tree, and when the tale
becomes too little to your taste you shall munch apples and forget
it."

"Will you sit in the swing?" asked Jennifer, pointing to the midmost
apple-tree, which was the largest in the orchard, and had a little
swing hanging from a long upper limb.

Close to the apple-tree, a branch of which indeed brushed its mossed
pent-roof, stood the Well-House. It had a round wall of old red
bricks growing green with time, and a pillar of oak rose up at each
point of the compass to support the pent. Between the south and west
pillars was a green door, held by a rusty chain and a padlock with
six keyholes. The little circular court within was flagged, and
three rings of worn steps led to the well-head and the green wooden