“I SEE it, I see it!” cried Tom eagerly, balancing himself perilously over the well-curb. “It’s down at the bottom!”
“Did you suppose it would float?” asked Bess, with a touch of scorn in her tones.
“Let me see,” cried Bob, pushing forward.
“You clear out,” said Archie; “you’re to blame for dropping it in; you’d better go before you tumble in yourself, you little goose.”
Archie’s broken arm felt very stiff to-day, and his temper was slightly damaged, too. All four children gathered around the well, at the bottom of which lay the silver teapot, like truth, bright and shining, but apparently not to be recovered by mortals.
Mr. Bradley had gone to the village, and the children were determined to get the silver teapot up before his return, for as yet they had not thought it necessary to mention its disappearance, and Mr. Bradley was not the man to notice its absence.
“Of course, if it was lost we should have to tell,” Bess had said to her brother; “but as long as we know where it is, and that it’s safe, there’s no need to say anything about it.”
“Well, what’s to be done?” asked Archie. “I can’t go after it, with my broken arm.”
“Now I suppose we will hear of nothing but your broken arm for a month, and you’ll shirk everything for it. ‘I can’t study ’cause my arm’s broken; I can’t go errands ’cause my arm’s broken; I can’t go to church ’cause my arm’s broken;’ that will be your whine, Archie; but don’t try your dodges on me, for I won’t stand it. If it really hurts you, I’m sorry, and I’ll lick any fellow that touches you till you get well again, but none of your humbug. Of course you can’t go down the well; you couldn’t if your arm wasn’t broken.” This was from Tom.