He tied the cord to the handle of the pail, while Rob held the candle and they watched the pail descend. Down, down it went, until it disappeared into the blackness. “Well, well!” said his father. “Ten, twenty, I must have paid out thirty feet of cord already. I had forgotten that the well was so deep. Hello! There was a splash; hear it, Rob?” Rob heard,--a quick splash, and again the queer little noise, a tinkle, a trickle, a rustle, a whisper. “O Papa,” he cried, “let me draw up the pail, please.” “Well, be very careful, Son,” said his father. And Rob began to pull on the cord, while his father held tightly to his jacket so that he should not fall down into the deep, black hole. The pail was rather heavy. It bumped against the sides of the well, tinkling and jingling as it came up. Rob thought that it jerked and wobbled strangely. But perhaps his hand was not quite steady, he was so excited. At last the pail came in sight, full of water. They drew it over the edge, Rob stooping eagerly to see. Filled to the brim it was, and running over. “Clear water, as cold as ice,” said Rob’s Papa, dipping in his finger. “Let us take it upstairs and see it in a better light. I would not have believed that the old spring was still bubbling.” Very carefully Rob carried the pail of water up the cellar stairs. “Katie, O Katie!” he called. “See the water from the old well! From thirty feet down in the darkness it came.” “The Saints preserve us!” cried Katie. (She was always saying that.) “I wouldn’t touch water from the witch-well for any money ye could offer.” “It is clear and bright as glass,” said Rob’s papa. “O Papa! Let me drink some,” cried Rob. “I should so love to taste water from a real Indian spring.” “O Mr. Evans! Don’t let the b’y taste it!” begged Katie, clasping her hands. “It will kill him, the p’isen water!” “No, Rob,” said Mr. Evans, “I think Katie is right. It might be dangerous to drink the water. But it looks delicious. What a pity that we cannot use spring water from our own ancestral well, instead of buying it at the store as every one else must!” “Please, Papa--just one little sip?” begged Rob. “No, not one little sip, Son. Here, Katie, empty the pail of water into the sink,” said Mr. Evans firmly. Tremblingly Katie took the pail and went with it to the sink. But she had not turned half the water away when she gave a scream. “Ow! The whimperin’ and cryin’! Hark till it!” she shrieked. And indeed, it seemed to Rob that the water sobbed and moaned as it ran down the sink spout. Suddenly he had an idea. “It is too bad to let the beautiful fresh Indian spring water run into the horrid old sewer,” he said. “Please, Papa, come with me and let me pour it back into the well.”