“Well, you go get him. I’ll fish for the cat, but he’d be more likely to get her if he went down. Hurry!” Our drinking water was pumped out of the well, that was under the kitchen, by means of an endless chain furnished with rubber buckets, and while the well was some thirty feet deep, it would not be much of a job for a man used to it to go down and rescue the cat, supposing that its nine lives held out until he came. I did not think of going down, because I cannot swim, and a single false step would have meant drowning for me, and the husband who throws away his life for a cat has a false sense of values. Minerva rushed out to within bawling distance of James, and I lighted a candle and lowered it by means of a clothes line for about ten feet. “I see her! She’s swimming!” I exclaimed, and then the candle went out and I drew it up. I then tied an eight-quart pail on the line and lowered that, and when I felt it hitting water I called to the cat reassuringly, hoping that it would have sense enough to get inside of the pail. I pulled and felt the weight of the cat. “I’ve got her,” said I to Ethel and Cherry, who stood, interested spectators, at the kitchen door. “Oh, how fortunate,” said Ethel. “Yes, Minerva needn’t have called James. My, the cat must be water logged. She’s heavy.” I pulled hand over hand, and at last the pail was near enough for me to reach down and taking it’s bail, pull it over the edge. It was full to overflowing—with water. “Where’s the cat?” said Ethel in astonishment. “Cat’s gone back.” I lowered the bucket again, although I felt that it was time thrown away. While I was trying to attract Miss Pussy’s attention Cherry, looking out into the moonlight, said, “Here comes James.” And a minute later he came in. He had not quite reached home when he heard Minerva’s agonized calls, and came in obedience to them. “Think you can get her, James?” said I. “I guess so. Light the lantern, Minerva,” said he, and Minerva sprang to the cellar stairs and brought out a lantern which she lighted promptly. “Think she’s drowned, James?” “No, sir, cats hate water, but they can swim all right.” He stepped into the woodshed and came back in a minute with a coil of new clothes line. This he doubled and then tied it around his waist, asking me to hold on to the end of it. The lantern he fastened to the other rope’s end. “Keep yourself braced,” said he. “I wont fall, for I’ve often been down there to clean it, but if I do, you can pull me up.”