"So can I," said Ump.

The old carpet-weaver snorted. "Humph," she said, "when you git dry
behind the ears you won't be so peart." Then she waved her hand to me.
"Light off," she said, "an' rest your critters, an' git a tin of
drinkin' water."

After this invitation she went back to her half-woven carpet with its
green chain and its copperas-coloured widths, and we presently heard the
hum of the wooden shuttle and the bang of the loom frame. We rode a few
steps farther to the well, and Jud dismounted to draw the water. The
appliance for lifting the bucket was of the most primitive type. A post
with a forked top stood planted in the ground. In this fork rested a
long, slender sapling with a heavy butt, and from the small end, high in
the air, hung a slim pole, to the lower end of which the bucket was
tied.

Jud grasped the pole and lowered the bucket into the well, and then,
while one watched by the door, the others watered the horses in the old
carpet-weaver's bucket. It was the only thing to drink from, and if Aunt
Peggy had caught us with the "critters'" noses in it we should doubtless
have come in for a large share of that "dressing down" which she was
reserving for Lemuel Marks.

She came to the door as we were about to ride away and looked over the
sweaty horses. "Sakes alive," she said, "you little whelps ride like
Jehu. You'll git them horses ga'nted before you know it."

"You can't ga'nt a horse if he sweats good," said Ump; "but if he don't
sweat, you can ga'nt him into fiddle strings."

"They're pretty critters," said the old woman, running her eyes over the
three horses. "Be they Mister Ward's?"

"We all be Mister Ward's," answered Ump, screwing his mouth to one side
and imitating the old carpet-weaver's voice.

"Bless my life," said the old woman, looking us up and down, "Mister
Ward has a fine chance of scalawags."

We laughed and the old woman's face wrinkled into smiles. Then she
turned to me. "Which way did you come, Quiller?" she asked.

"Over the bridge," said I. Now there was no other way to come, and the
old carpet-weaver turned the counter with shrewd good-nature.

"Maybe you know how the bridge got there," she said.

"I've heard that the Dwarfs built it," said I, "but I reckon it's talk."

"Well, it ain't talk," said the old woman. "A long time ago, folks lived
on the other side of the river, and the Dwarfs lived on this side, an'
the folks tried to git acrost, but they couldn't,