Reels and Spindles: A Story of Mill Life

"Will you fetch me a candle?" the teamster asked Cleena; and when she had done so he fastened it to the end of the clothesline and slowly lowered it into the shaft. The flame was instantly extinguished.

"Hmm, have to wait a spell, I reckon. Might as well tackle the cistern."

"What made the candle go out? Was there a wind?" asked Amy.

"Carbonic acid gas," answered her brother.

"Huh," said Fayette, contemptuously, "'twa'n't neither. Just choke damp an' fixed air. Soon's the candle'll stay lighted, I'll go down. Cistern's the same, only wider. Got a powder here'll fix it, if it don't clear soon."

After the cistern was cleaned, and this was a much easier task than the well, Fayette returned to the curb, again lighted the candle, and lowered it. The foul and poisonous gases had mostly passed away, and the flame continued to burn as far down as the clothesline would reach.

"That's all right; I'll tackle it now."

"No, you'll not. None o' your foolhardiness here."

"Who made you boss o' me, John Young?"

"I did. I'll prevent you, if I have to hold on to you. Best leave it open till to-morrow, or longer even," said John. "I'm going to eat my dinner now. Come and have some."

"Bime-by. I'm goin' to take off my shoes. Work best when I'm barefoot."

The answer gave John no concern, for he knew this peculiarity of Fayette's; so he walked quietly away toward the old shed where he had tied his horses, to give them their food and secure his own. Before he reached them, however, he heard a loud shout, and, turning, saw the foolish boy capering about on the beam which had been laid across the top of the well, and from which the rope and bucket were still suspended.

"'Bony,' you fool, get off that! A misstep and you're gone!"

"All right, I'll get off!"

There was a wild waving of arms, a burst of derisive laughter, and "Bony" had disappeared.

CHAPTER IX.

THE WATERLOO OF BONAPARTE LAFAYETTE

The teamster's cry of horror brought everybody to the scene. Cleena was the first to reach it and to find John standing by the mouth of the well, whitefaced and trembling.

"What's it? What's down there? What mean ye yellin' that gait? Speak, man, if ye can."

He could only point downward, while he strained his ears to catch any sound that might come from below.

Then Cleena shook him fiercely. "Speak, I tell ye! Where's the boy?"

The other still pointed down into the shaft, but he made out to say: —

"I heard him laugh, then shout, and he must have gone stark crazy."

"He down there? That poor, senseless gossoon? Where was you that you'd leave him do it?"

"I was walking – wait! I hear something."

Four white, terror-stricken faces now bent above the old well, while Cleena's arms clasped her "childer" tightly, fearing they, too, might be snatched away from her.

"Saints save us, it's bewitched! Oh, the day, the day!"

"Shut up, woman! Keep still. I hear something."

Again they stooped and listened, and Amy's keen ears reported, joyfully: —

"It's Fayette! It is, it is! It sounds as if he were speaking from the far end of a long, long tube. But he's alive, he's alive!"

"He might as well be dead. His bones must be broken, and he can't live long in such an air as that," said Hallam.

"I don't know. That he's alive at all proves that the air isn't as bad as I thought. Besides, he may not have broken any bones. He's had fearful falls, before this, and he always came out about sound. But the rope doesn't reach much more than two-thirds down. I've heard they dug this well a hundred and fifty feet deep. They had to, to reach water from top this rock."

"A hundred and fifty feet! How can we possibly reach him?"

"Not by standin' talkin'. Whisk to the cottage, Amy, an' beg the length of all the rope they have. To save a lad's life – be nimble!"

The girl was away long before Cleena finished speaking, while the latter herself darted into the house, caught off the sheets and blankets from the beds, and tore them into strips. Never wasting one motion of her strong hands, and praying ceaselessly, she tied each fresh length and tested it with all her force.

Meanwhile Amy almost flew over the space between "Spite House" and the cottage, arriving there nigh breathless; but gasping out her errand, she rushed straight to the line in the drying yard and began to tear it from its fastenings on the poles.

"You're wanting my rope, miss? Somebody in the well? Heaven help him! But wait! If it's cleaning the well he is, why of course he'd be down there. Who is it?"

"Fayette. Maybe you know him as 'Bony.'"

"The half-wit? Pshaw, Miss. Don't look that frightened. He's all safe, never fear. Nothing hurts him. The Lord looks after him. I'm afraid this rope won't hold, it's so old. Wait, I'll go, too. Never mind the children, they'll have to take care of themselves."

All the while she was talking the kindly woman had been rolling the line, retying it where their haste broke its worn strands, and following Amy up over the slope. Now she paused for one second to remonstrate: —

"You, Victoria, go back! There's William Gladstone trying to creep after us. Beatrice, Belinda, go home. You mustn't follow mother every time she turns her back! Go home, I tell you. Go – right – straight – back – home. My! but this is steep!"

A shriek, shrill and piercing as only infant lungs could utter, made even Amy stop, eager though she was to reach the well where poor "Bony" might already have breathed his last. The one backward glance she cast showed the numerous children of the house of Jones toiling industriously skyward, in their mother's footsteps. Victoria, who was "eight and should have known better," had left William Gladstone to take care of himself, with the result that, being less than two years old and rather unsteady on his legs, he had toddled up to the biggest stone in the path, tried to step over it, lost his balance, and fallen. The hill was so steep that once the fat little fellow began to roll downwards he could not stop, and the terrified outcry first showed the mother his danger.

"He'll bump his head against a rock and – "

Mrs. Jones did not finish her sentence, but faced about and ran frantically down the slope, catching up her baby and smothering it with kisses, although she had assured the little fellow, at least a dozen times that day, that "he was the very plague of her life." She had dropped the rope, and Amy caught it, then turned and ran as fast upward as her neighbor was going in the other direction. Behind Amy still followed Victoria, Beatrice, and Belinda.

"You should go back. Your little brother's hurt," shouted she.

"Yes'm. He is often," coolly replied Victoria, who could have the minor excitement of examining the baby's bruises any day, but who did not intend to lose the greater one of "a man down the well" for any commonplace home matter.

Just before she came to the crest of the knoll Amy hesitated, and stood still. It seemed to her she could not go on and face the possible, even probable, tragedy at the top, and into the midst of her awestruck waiting there was hurled this startling question: —

"Say, miss, where do you s'pose you'll have the funeral? May I come?"

"Ugh! Oh, you horrid little thing!"

Victoria appeared so amazed at the effect of her inquiry that she stared back into Amy's face, wide-eyed and open-mouthed.