se at the top
heard, clear and loud from the depths, "Haul away gently."

Very carefully they pulled on that rope, and up, up, up towards the
sunlight that his strained eyes had never thought to see again, came
Mark Elmer.

When Jan, strong as an ox, but tender as a woman, leaned over the curb
and lifted the limp, dripping figure, as it were from the grave, he
burst into tears, for he thought the boy was dead. He was still and
white, the merry brown eyes were closed, and he did not seem to breathe.

But another was down there, so they laid Mark gently on the grass, and
again lowered the rope into the well.

The figure that appeared as they pulled up this time was just as wet as
the other, but full of life and energy.

"Carry him into the house, Jan. He isn't dead. He was alive when I got
to him. Put him in a bed, and wrap him up in hot blankets. Rub him with
whiskey! slap his feet!--anything!--only fetch him to, while I go for
help."

With these words Frank March, wet as a water-spout, and more excited
than he had ever been in his life, sprang on his horse and was off like
a whirlwind.

That that ride did not kill the horse was no fault of Frank's; for when
he was reined sharply up in the "Go Bang" yard, and his rider sprang
from his back and into the house at one leap, he staggered and fell,
white with foam, and with his breath coming in gasps.

In the sitting-room Mr. Elmer was just trying to break the news of
Mark's death to his wife as gently as possible, when the door was flung
open, and Frank, breathless, hatless, dripping with water, and pale
with excitement, burst into the room shouting,

"He's alive!--he's alive and safe!"

Over and over again did he have to tell the marvellous story of how he
had found Mark standing up to his neck in water, at the bottom of a
natural well, nearly dead, but still alive; how he had knotted the rope
around him and sent him to the top, while he himself stayed down there
until the rope could again be lowered; how Mark had fainted, and now
lay like dead in a farm-house--before the parents could realize that
their son, whom they were a moment before mourning as dead, was still
alive.

Then the mules were hitched to the farm-wagon, a feather-bed and many
blankets were thrown in, Mr. and Mrs. Elmer, Ruth, and Frank climbed
in, and away they went. John Gilpin's ride was tame as compared to the
way that wagon flew over the eight miles of rough country between
Wakulla and t