“Tom down a well! And how did he get there?”
Uncle Daniel never hurried, and required a reason, always, for the hope that was in his friends.
“He went down for the teapot,” sobbed Bess, “the silver teapot, and we can’t pull him up again; and he’s all cramped with cold. Oh, do hurry!”
“The silver teapot down the well; my mother’s silver teapot! Daniel, didn’t I always say that Mary Bradley should never have had that teapot? This must be looked into.”
And with dignified strides Aunt Maria marched to the well.
Tom’s teeth by this time were chattering so that he fully expected they would all drop out, and the three fishers were so completely demoralized by their fears as to be speechless.
Uncle Daniel was a slow man. He leisurely looked down at Tom, then up at the wheel, then at the rope, and calmly remarked, “All new, I see.” Then he slowly took off his coat, and as slowly carried it into the house, stopped to give an order to his coachman, who had driven around to the stable, and came with measured pace to where the three frightened children stood listening to Aunt Maria, who was doing her duty by them strictly and fully.
Uncle Daniel then took hold of the rope, gave a long, strong, calm pull, and in an instant, Tom, “dripping with coolness, arose from the well.”
* * * * * *