"I vow," at last exclaimed Gladding, "if I don't believe you're afraid
Basset will give you a licking."
"Basset, nor no oder man, ebber see de day nor night to make me 'fraid," said the valorous General, whose natural courage was a little stimulated by the cider he had been drinking, starting up and preparing for his expedition. "But, Missa Gladding, you promise to stand by me if dis scrape go any furder."
"Sartainly," answered Tom, "I never left a friend in the lurch, I tell you."
"Gib us you hand on dat."
Tom extended a great sledge-hammer fist, and the two shook hands in sign of inviolable fidelity.
"Now," said Tom, "I guess, I'll make myself scarce. I wouldn't have him see me in this rig for all the cider I drank to-night. There's some left in the old pitcher, so fetch him along, and comfort the critter's heart with a few swigs."
With these words, Tom took his leave, first altering somewhat the disposition of his garments, divesting himself of the sash, placing the cap higher on his brows, and depositing the false beard in his pocket, while Primus, lighting a fresh pipe, sallied forth on his errand of benevolence.
As he approached he could hear plainer the halloo which Basset occasionally emitted from his trap. The ears of the latter sharpened by expectation, caught the sound of the advancing steps, while as yet the deliverer was at too great a distance to see the hole, and his cries for assistance were redoubled.
"Help!" he cried, "help! They want to murder me. This way—here, in the old well—this way—O, Lord!"
Such were the cries that saluted the ears of Primus, as soon as he was near enough to distinguish articulate sounds.