A prisoner! Some one was shut up in the old well! Rob sat up in bed. He must set the prisoner free. He was not a bit frightened at the thought of going down all alone into the cellar, for he knew that there was nothing more to be afraid of in the dark than in the daylight. He got up and thrust his feet into a pair of slippers and put on his bath robe. Then very softly, so as not to waken anybody in the house, he crept downstairs: down to the floor where his father and mother slept,--he could hear them breathing as he passed the door; down past the library where the books lived and all night long told silent stories to one another in the moonlight; down to the empty dining-room, and through to the kitchen. Here Rob found a candle on a shelf and lighted it. Then, taking this in one hand and holding up his trailing bath robe with the other, he stole down the cellar stairs. The voice was calling now louder than ever, and with it sounded the knocking, which certainly came from the old well. “Let me out, O kind boy!” sobbed the silvery, tinkling voice. “Let me out. Oh! I thought I was free to-day, but alas! Here I remain yet a prisoner, for how many more long years? O kind little boy, the first one to do me a good turn, let me out, let me out!” Rob hastened to the corner in which was the old well. And as he drew near, the voice became plainer and plainer, and the knockings louder and louder. He set the candle down on the floor beside the rat-trap which his father had baited that afternoon, and his heart beat fast as he bent over the cover of the well and seized the iron ring in both hands. Should he be able to lift it? One--two--three! Rob strained hard, but the cover would not budge. One--two--three, again! It was so heavy for a little boy to lift. One--two--three! Once more! Rob felt the cover move a tiny bit. The noises down in the well had ceased suddenly. It was very still. Rob could hear his heart thumping like the screw of a steamboat. Now, for one last time! One--two--_three_! The cover came up suddenly, so suddenly that Rob nearly went over backward. There below yawned the great black hole of the well. “Oh!” said Rob, drawing a long breath. “_Oh!_” Was it an echo, or a soft little voice, far, far below? Rob took up the candle and peered down into the well. But he could see nothing. “Is any one down there?” he asked. At first there was no answer, and then there came a tinkly, trickly sound like water bubbling, which turned at last into a whispered “_Yes!_” There certainly was some one in the old well! “Who are you?” said Rob, tingling all over with excitement. “Oh, little friend, kind boy,” said the voice, “I am the Fairy of the Indian spring, shut up here for years and years, unable to get out. I have called and called, but you are the first who has come to aid me.” “What can I do to help you?” asked Rob eagerly. “Let down the bucket as you did this afternoon,” said the voice. “Let down the bucket and draw me up.”