“But, Aunt Alcie, if it sends up puddled water, or if it remains quiet, what would become of me?”
“Never be foreboding, cheeld; troubles come quick without running to meet ’em. Take my word for it, the fayther of thy little un will soon be home again. Ask the well! ask the well!”
“Has it told any death or sickness lately?” asked the young mother.
“On St Peter’s eve Mary Curnew questioned the water about poor Willy.”
“And the water never moved?”
“The well was quiet; and verily I guess it was about that time he died.”
“Any sickness, Aunt Alcie?”
“Jenny Kelinach was told, by a burst of mud, how ill her old mother was; but do not be feard, all is well with Johnny Thomas.”
Still the woman hesitated; desire, fear, hope, doubt, superstition, and intelligence struggled within her heart and brain.
The old creature, who was a sort of guardian to the well, used all her rude eloquence to persuade Jane Thomas to put her question, and at length she consented. Obeying the old woman’s directions, she knelt on the mat of bright green grass which grew around, and leaning over the well so as to see her face in the water, she repeated after her instructor,