“How are you, Paul? How are you, my dear boy? Better, I hope?”
“Oh yes, papa, ever so much better, thank you. But why haven’t you come before? I’ve looked for you and looked for you!”
Paul spoke with feeling. He and Pauline, though now fifteen years of age, were not ashamed to show their love for their father. The affection existing between Captain Bradstreet and his motherless twins was something beautiful to behold.
Kirke was surprised to see how coolly Paul received the news of the proposed trip to Europe. Though greatly pleased, he was by no means as excited as Kirke had been that morning when the plan was first mentioned. Paul was a quieter sort of boy than Kirke, and two years older. Moreover, he had already been to sea several times, and the novelty was pretty well worn off. Still, he wished to go again very much, especially if the Rowes would go, too, for “that would make it a good deal jollier.”
After chatting awhile, Captain Bradstreet went into the lemon-house to speak with his cousin, Mr. Keith, leaving the boys to entertain each other. Paul, acting as host, at once invited Kirke to visit the well that had been begun; and they sauntered by the lemon-grove to a deep hole sunk in the ground. Above the hole stood a windlass with a bucket attached to it.
“Is anybody down there now?” asked Kirke, dropping upon his knees and peering into the dark cavern.
“No, Yeck Wo is sick to-day; so Sing Wung left off working here, and is cultivating in the orchard.”
“So it takes two to run this thing?”
“Yes. Sing Wung stays below to shovel earth into the bucket, and Yeck Wo stays up here to turn the windlass and draw the bucket up into daylight.”
“I see,” said Kirke, “and the Wo fellow tips the earth out of the bucket on to this heap here, then sends the bucket back empty. It must be fun to watch him.”