"We've got to get a man and a rope right away," Eve went on practically. "I think we'd better go up to the farm where Michael works, it can't be far."
Hattie May regained some slight semblance of sanity at this suggestion. "You two go," she ordered. "I'll stay here by Hamish. And oh, do hurry, you can't tell what awful things are down that well--snakes and terrible toads! It must be a mile deep, at least it looks it."
"I'll stay with Hattie May," I said. "You go find Michael, Eve."
So Eve flew away. Hattie May put her face to the hole--while I took fast hold on what remained of her dress--and called down cheering words to the prisoner. "Eve's gone for Michael," she shouted. "He works up the road. What? What's that you said?" She lifted her face from the hole. "Sandy, did you hear that?"
"He says," said Hattie May incredibly, "that Michael is in jail!"
I stared at her. "You must have misunderstood," I said.
"That's what it sounded like. You don't suppose," a new terror was dawning in her eyes, "that being down there all this time has--has affected Hamish's mind?"
"I think you misunderstood him," I repeated soothingly. "Perhaps he said for Michael to bring a pail."
"A pail! Oh, then there must be water in the well after all! He's probably caught pneumonia!" She put her head back to the hole. "Oh, Hamish, are you very wet?"
"He says he's dry as a bone!" she sat up. "He says he's got to have a drink right away!"
"Well, I guess he'll just have to wait," I said.
But Hattie May's eyes had lighted on something--a bottle on the ground where Eve had left it. It was the dandelion wine for Mrs. Viner. She pounced on it. "I'm going to drop this down!" she exclaimed.
"You're crazy, Hattie May!" I protested. "The bottle will be sure to break or hit him on the head. Besides," I added weakly, "very likely he doesn't like dandelion wine--many don't."
"How can you talk like that, Sandy, at such a moment! I guess if your brother was perishing of thirst and you had some drink to give him--I guess you wouldn't hesitate!"
"Well," I said resignedly, "if you crack his skull, I don't think it will help matters any." But she wasn't listening. She was leaning again over the jagged aperture, the bottle in her hand. I took another strangle hold on the back of her skirt and held my peace.