ania began sifting
into his brain through another part of his anatomy. He promised never,
never again to peep into the old well. The guards believed him and for
days thereafter he lived blissfully on their praises, while everyone,
directly or indirectly interested, conceded that mamma's "spanks" had
finally broken the charm of the old well for the boy.

However, the little prisoner was removed to another cell--the big, front
room upstairs--the door securely locked. A large, open window looked out
upon the front yard and below the window near the house was the old
well.

One evening the men, returning from the field, halted to slake their
thirst at the well, the up-coming of the old oaken bucket brought from
its depths a half-knit woolen sock and a ball of yarn. A strand of yarn
reaching to the window above told the story.

Later, a turkey wing, used as a fan in summer and to furnish wind for an
obdurate wood fire in winter, was found limply swimming in the bucket.
Indeed, for days thereafter, divers articles, missed from the big, front
room, accompanied the bucket on its return trips. When one of grandpap's
well-worn Sunday boots was brought to the surface, it was believed that
the last of the missing articles from the big room had been recovered.
However, the disappearance of grandma's little mantelpiece clock was
never explained.

Uncle Joe and Aunt Betsy stopped their old mare in front of the house
and in chorus shouted "Hello!" as was the custom of neighbors passing on
their way to or from town. The whole family, including "Al-f-u-r-d,"
betook themselves to the roadside to gossip. "Al-f-u-r-d," busy as
usual, clambered up over the muddy wheels into the vehicle. He was
praised by uncle and aunt for his obedience, and promised candy when
they returned from town. Clambering down he missed his footing and
narrowly escaped being trampled upon by the old mare who was vigorously
stamping and swishing her tail to keep off the flies.

Dragged from under the buggy he was soon out of the minds of the
gossiping group, curiosity drew him to the old well. Circling it at a
respectful distance, he said:

"Naughty ole well, don't thry to coax me 'caus I won't play with you,
nor look down in you never no more. There!"

Passing to the side farthest from the unsuspecting guards, the handle of
the windlass was within his reach. Instinctively the desire seized him
to lower the bucket, pulling out the ratchet that held it, the old