“Watch out, now,” said Drusilla defiantly. “Ef you gits drownded in dar I’ll sho’ tell yo’ ma.”
Fortunately, there was no one near the spring, so Mr. Thimblefinger advanced boldly, followed closely by the children, though Drusilla seemed to hang back somewhat doubtfully. When they arrived there Mr. Thimblefinger took out his tiny timepiece and held it in his hand. The children watched him with breathless interest, especially Buster John, who was thrilled with the idea of having an adventure entirely different from any that he had read of in the story-books.
As the little man stood there holding his watch and looking at it intently, the dinner-bell rang, first in the hallway and then in the back porch. The children remembered it afterward.
“You all better go git yo’ dinner ’fo’ it git col’, stidder projeckin’ ’roun’ here wid you dunner what,” remarked Drusilla.
“Now!” exclaimed Mr. Thimblefinger, “put your hand in the spring.”
Buster John did as he was bid, and, to his amazement, he could feel no water. He could see it, but he couldn’t feel it. He turned pale with excitement and withdrew his hand. Then he put his other hand in, but the result was the same. He plunged his arm in up to the elbow, but his sleeve remained perfectly dry.
“Try it, sis,” he cried.
Sweetest Susan did so, and boldly declared there was no water in the spring. She wanted Drusilla to try to wet her hand, but Drusilla sullenly declined.
Mr. Thimblefinger settled the matter by walking into the spring.
“Now, then, if you are going, come along,” he cried. “You have just seventeen and a half seconds.” He waved his hand from the bottom of the spring and stood waiting. A spring lizard ran near him, and he drew his sword and chased it into a hole. A crawfish showed its head, and he drove it away. Then he waved his hand again. “Come on, the coast is clear.”