re at it we will do it
well--let the water come in a little and give it a good wash out two or
three times over. I won't let it fill up at all till we have scraped
this all clear. That's the way to do it," he continued, giving the rope
a swing so as to turn the bucket on its side and scrape it along the
bottom. "Hear that, sir? All hard stone at the bottom down there, and
mud and mud. Now, I half-expected to find a lot of things that had
fallen down, and the hoops of some old bucket that had been lost."

Glyn started at the man's words, and saw in his mind's eye the long red
morocco case, blackened now and saturated with water, while he wondered
what effect the moisture would have had on the beautiful
gold-embroidered leather of the belt.

"Yes," continued Wrench, giving Glyn as he stood close beside the mouth
of the well what seemed to the boy a malicious grin, "I did expect to
find something curious down there; but the buckets run easily over the
bottom, and there don't seem to be--yes, there is," he shouted
excitedly. "Nothing like patience in fishing. I have got a bite."

Glyn's heart seemed to stand still as the man gave a snatch at the rope.

"That's the way to strike," he cried excitedly. "I've caught him, and a
heavy one too."

Glyn's heart sank with disappointment, for there was no heaviness about
the belt, and he stood waiting now as the winch was steadily turned and
the bucket began to rise.

They had not been observed before, but a little party of about a dozen
of the younger boys had been hovering for some time about the
well-house-door, and first one and then another made a dash in from time
to time when Wrench was too busy with the buckets to take any notice of
them.

Burton had come inside now, to range up close to Glyn, and in an
affectionate way passed his arm round that of the lad who had been his
defender more than once.

Glyn responded by withdrawing his arm, placing both hands on the little
fellow's shoulders, and thrusting him in front so that the boy could
have a good view of all that there was to see.

"I say, Severn," he cried, turning his head to look up, "no larks--no
shoving me down the well!"

"Why not?" said Severn merrily, as he gripped the little fellow tighter.

"Because old Slegge will want me to bowl for him, and he likes kicking
me."

"Likes kicking you? Why?" said Glyn, speaking almost mechanically, for
he was anxiously watching the dark hole for the ascent o