"There, you blatherskite! What's your guardian angel thinkin' of ye the now, you poor, ignorant, heathen gossoon? Well for ye that old Cleena has met up with ye to beat some bits o' sense into your idle pate. Tight, is it? Well, not so tight as the bands o' me heart when I looked to see ye brought up to me dead. 'Twon't hurt. Lie there an' rest."
Cleena finished her harangue and her task together. After that she stood up straight and strong, and regarded the teamster with a questioning eye.
"Is it true, what he says, that he's nor kith nor kin, hereabouts?"
"I guess it's true," answered John, laughing at the ludicrous appearance of Fayette upon the ground. "He was born in the poorhouse, an' I've heard his mother died. His father had before then, I know. I used—"
Cleena was in no mood for long stories, and she foresaw that one was imminent. She interrupted without ceremony—
"So, if I take him in hand to train him a bit, what for no? There'll be no one botherin' an' interferin', is it?"
"I guess there won't anybody worry about 'Bony.' He's right handy around the mill, an' he does odd jobs for a many people; but if you want him, I 'low you can have him 'for a song.'"
"I'll have no song singin', not I, nor from him. But if I don't make a smart, decent lad where there lies a fool, my name isn't Cleena Keegan, the day. Now what's about the well?"
"That's what I want to know, Cleena," cried Amy. "How did he, could he, fall into it and climb out of it alive?"