“La, no! Master Rob,” said Katie, looking sidewise at the little boy, “your Mamma wouldn’t want me to be frightenin’ ye with tales the likes o’ these.” “But I’m not frightened, Katie,” said Rob eagerly. “I’m just _interested_.” “H’m,” said Katie doubtfully, glancing at the clock. “Whisht! Master Rob! ’Tis a quarter to nine, and time for you to be startin’ for school, or you’ll be late.” And indeed, Rob had to run all the way, and reached school barely in time. Rob’s papa did not forget to bring home a rat-trap that night, and after dinner he said,-- “Now, Rob, I am going down cellar to set the trap, and if you want to come with me I will show you the old well.” Of course Rob wanted to go. So Rob’s papa took a lighted candle in one hand, and the rat-trap nicely baited with cheese in the other, and they descended the steep cellar stairs together. It was very dark in the cellar, and the candle made queer flares on the walls and ceiling, and lighted up corners which Rob had never before seen. In the very darkest and dimmest corner of all, away in the back cellar, Rob’s papa paused, and then Rob saw that in the floor there was a trapdoor with an iron ring, quite like the Arabian Nights! “It is from somewhere hereabout that Katie says she hears the noises,” said Papa. “We will set the trap on the floor, close beside the wall, and I warrant we shall catch a big rat before many nights are over.” So he set the trap with the spring ready to catch the first greedy rat who should try to steal the cheese. “Now let us look into the well,” said Rob’s papa. “I haven’t lifted this cover for years. Ugh! It is heavy enough!” He tugged at the iron ring and presently the cover flew back. Down below yawned a great black hole, very deep and seemingly quite empty. “Here, Rob, take hold of my hand,” said his papa, “and you can look down.” Rob held tightly to his father’s hand, and bending over, peered into the well. The candle which his father held flickered and flamed and shot a shaft of light down into the strange hole. “I can’t see anything,” said Rob, disappointed. “I don’t think there is any water there. But--but I think I hear something! A queer little noise like water trickling, or somebody whispering very softly.” “The spring may be bubbling yet,” said his father. “Katie, O Katie!” he called upstairs. “Please bring me a tin pail and a ball of stout twine. We will see whether the Indian spring has run dry or not.” “The Saints preserve us!” Rob heard Katie cry in the kitchen above, as she went about to do as she was bid. And again Rob thought he heard a murmuring in the well. “There is the queer noise again, Papa!” he cried. “It sounds like some one talking a long way off.” “Pooh, pooh!” said Papa. (He was always saying, “Pooh, pooh” at Rob’s queer notions.) “Run and get the pail and the cord, Sonny. Katie is afraid to come near the well. Ah! Now we shall soon know.”