em even when
the boy wriggled his legs about.

"Phew!" thought Roy. "I stand a fair chance of being turned into a
pollywog or something if I stay here long enough."

Somehow, with the coming of daylight, the buoyant spirits of youth had
returned to the boy and his predicament did not seem nearly so serious as
it had during the dark hours.

But it was bad enough, as Roy realized. From time to time he tried
shouting, but no one came to the edge of the well and peered over,
although he anxiously kept his eyes riveted on the disc of sky above him.
How long this went on Roy had no idea, but he had sunk into a sort of
semi-doze when a sudden sound aroused him.

A tinkling, metallic sound, not unlike the rattling of the chain the
night before that had, in reality, caused his trouble.

"Help! Help!" shouted Roy.

It was perhaps the five hundredth time he had uttered the cry since he
had tumbled into the well. But this time there came a response.

"What is it? What's the trouble?"

The voice sounded rather shaky, and as if the utterer of the words was
somewhat scared.

"It's a boy who has fallen into the well," shouted Roy. "I'm almost
exhausted. Get me out."

A face suddenly projected over the well curb--a face which Roy recognized
with astonishment as that of old Peter Bell, the hermit.

"Mr. Bell, it's Roy Prescott," he shouted; "can you get a rope and get me
out?"

"Good heavens!" cried the hermit; "it's the boy whose sister was so kind
to me. However did you--but never mind that now. Can you hold on for a
time?"

"Yes, but my strength is almost gone."

"Well, summon up all your courage. There is a farm house not far off.
I'll go there and get a rope and be back as quick as I can."

Without wasting more words the old man hastened to his little cart. He
had been out since dawn gathering herbs and roots and had taken a short
cut home through the field in which the old well was located. Muttering
excitedly to himself, he climbed somewhat stiffly into his rickety
conveyance and urged his old horse forward with gently spoken commands.
As the animal broke into a trot the little bell about its neck began to
jangle not unmusically. This was the sound which, fortunately for him,
had notified Roy that some human being was at hand.

In the near distance, half hidden in trees, could be seen the red-roofed
gable of a farm house. Toward this old Peter Bell directed his way.
Farmer Ingalls was only too glad, when he he