“It—it—it—it—it,”—he stuttered—“it does tickle me so!”
“There, there! Steady, steady!” said Glyn. “No nonsense, or I shall send you out of the well-house.”
“No, no; please don’t, Severn,” whispered the boy excitedly. “Let me stay, please. I do so want to see.”
“Very well, then, only no games now,” and in rather a hopeless way, feeling as he did that there would be no morocco case and belt brought up this time, Glyn patiently waited till from out of the darkness the bucket came into sight, was wound up till it was well within reach, a thump and a scraping noise coming echoing up from the bottom to announce that its fellow had reached the end of its journey, and Wrench cried out “Wo—ho!” for the gardener to hold on tightly by the handle and prevent the heavy bucket running down again.
“Why, Crumpets!” cried Wrench, “what in the world have we got here?” while Burton reached both hands back behind him so as to get a good grip at the lapels of Severn’s jacket, and began to dance with delight.
“Why, it’s a cricket-bat!” cried Wrench. “Hanging over the side of the bucket by a string tied round the handle!”
At this Burton began to make uncouth sounds as if he were being choked in his efforts to suppress a hearty burst of laughter.
“Well, this ’ere’s a pretty game,” continued Wrench, as he took hold of the bat by the handle and ran his hand along the muddy string till at the bottom of the bucket his hand came in contact with a heavy brick. “Why, any one would think it was a tom-cat with a string round its neck and a brick at the other end of the string so as to keep him down. Four or five years ago! Why, that would be time enough for all the flesh and skin to have gone; but I never knowed that cats’ skillingtons was shaped like a cricket-bat.—Here, steady, youngster!” he continued to the little fellow, “if you laugh like that you will have a fit.”
“Oh, I can’t bear it! I can’t bear it!” panted the little chap, and wrenching himself free from Glyn’s grasp he rushed out at the well-house door, ten or a dozen of his comrades bounding up to him as he shouted, “Oh, come and look! come and look! Here it is! They’ve pulled it up, drowned and quite dead.”
There was a yell of delight from the little crowd, and all rushed up to the well-house-door, to begin performing something like a triumphant war-dance about the blackened and muddy bat.