The Story Girl stood up and waved her chrysanthemums at us . We waved wildly back until the buggy had driven around the curve . Then we went slowly and silently back to the house . At fifteen , I became a resident in a country village , more than a hundred miles from home . The morning after my arrival -- a September morning , but warm and bright as any in July -- I rambled into a wood of oaks , with a few walnut-trees intermixed , forming the closest shade above my head . The ground was rocky , uneven , overgrown with bushes and clumps of young saplings , and traversed only by cattle-paths . The track , which I chanced to follow , led me to a crystal spring , with a border of grass , as freshly green as on May morning , and overshadowed by the limb of a great oak . One solitary sunbeam found its way down , and played like a goldfish in the water . From my childhood , I have loved to gaze into a spring . The water filled a circular basin , small but deep , and set round with stones , some of which were covered with slimy moss , the others naked , and of variegated hue , reddish , white , and brown . The bottom was covered with coarse sand , which sparkled in the lonely sunbeam , and seemed to illuminate the spring with an unborrowed light . In one spot , the gush of the water violently agitated the sand , but without obscuring the fountain , or breaking the glassiness of its surface . It appeared as if some living creature were about to emerge -- the Naiad of the spring , perhaps -- in the shape of a beautiful young woman , with a gown of filmy water-moss , a belt of rainbow-drops , and a cold , pure , passionless countenance . How would the beholder shiver , pleasantly , yet fearfully , to see her sitting on one of the stones , paddling her white feet in the ripples , and throwing up water , to sparkle in the sun ! Wherever she laid her hands on grass and flowers , they would immediately be moist , as with morning dew . Then would she set about her labors , like a careful housewife , to clear the fountain of withered leaves , and bits of slimy wood , and old acorns from the oaks above , and grains of corn left by cattle in drinking , till the bright sand , in the bright water , were like a treasury of diamonds . But , should the intruder approach too near , he would find only the drops of a summer shower glistening about the spot where he had seen her . Reclining on the border of grass , where the dewy goddess should have been , I bent forward , and a pair of eyes met mine within the watery mirror . They were the reflection of my own . I looked again , and lo !
another face , deeper in the fountain than my own image , more distinct in all the features , yet faint XXXXX thought .
about above after around as at like than to without