“Because I’m so soft and don’t hurt his feet.”
“Don’t let it drop out, mates,” cried the gardener, who was on the other side of the well, turning one winch. “Hold tight now you have got him. Do you know what it is?”
“No,” replied Wrench; “but I think by the feel of it when I got it slithered into the bucket that it must be an old brick out of the side somewhere.”
“Yah! Not it!” said the gardener. “I’ll tell you what it is: it’s that big old tom-cat of the Doctor’s that used to be about the garden and was always scratching up my young plants. He was missing four or five years ago, and I dare say he got into the top bucket to curl up for a nap one night, and went down in it and was drowned.”
“If it is,” said Wrench, “he’s got to be pretty heavy with soaking up so much water down below. Maybe you know better than that how it was he did get drowned and left off scratching up your plants.”
As the man said these words little Burton gave quite a jump, and made a peculiar sound.
“Here,” said Glyn quietly, “what are you starting at? Did you think I was going to pretend to push you in?”
“N–n–no,” said the little fellow in a peculiar tone.
“What are you laughing at?” said Glyn, tightening his hold on the boy’s shoulders.
The little fellow squirmed.