The well in the wood

by Bert Leston Taylor

Not even Echo replied.

Buddie waited a little while, her ears strained for the slightest whisper in response; but, none coming, she shouted the question a second time.

Still no answer.

“I’m afraid Truth isn’t at home to-day,” said Buddie, getting up from her knees. “Why, where have they gone?”

Not a soul was in sight. She was again alone in the wood.

“I’m sure I didn’t look up this time,” she said, perplexed and grieved by the disappearance of her friends. “And—what’s become of The Well?”

The curb, the posts and the legend they supported had also vanished. All that remained was the cylinder-bore in the solid rock.

For the first time that day Buddie began to feel frightened. The cascade no longer tinkled; it thundered. The wild river, stained with the juices of burnt land and swamp land, its dark breast flecked with the foam of countless falls and rapids, rushed by within a foot or two of where she stood, and the ledge trembled under the mighty blows of the plunging torrent. White arms seemed to reach up from the pool to draw her into the black water, and the flying spray wet her face. Terrified, she ran back among the trees, threw herself on the mossy floor of the wood, and hid her face in her arms.

Thus she had lain for some minutes, a dreadful fear tightening around her little heart, when suddenly a familiar sound brought her scrambling to her feet. It was Colonel’s bark; but it seemed a long way off, across the river. As it was not instantly repeated she began to fear she had heard it only in imagination; but presently the cheerful voice of the faithful Yellow Dog sounded again above the roar of the falls, and Buddie ran down to the river, calling “Colonel! Colonel!”

An especially happy yelp answered her, and the Yellow Dog burst through the brush on the river’s farther bank. But instead of crossing on the boulders, which were conveniently disposed for a bridge, he ran back into the wood. He was out again in a moment, wagging his tail and barking joyously, as much as to say: “Here she is! Could any black or brown dog have done better?”