“Sartainly,” answered Tom, “I never left a friend in the lurch, I tell you.”

“Gib us you hand on dat.”

Tom extended a great sledge-hammer fist, and the two shook hands in sign of inviolable fidelity.

“Now,” said Tom, “I guess, I’ll make myself scarce.  I wouldn’t have him see me in this rig for all the cider I drank to-night.  There’s some left in the old pitcher, so fetch him along, and comfort the critter’s heart with a few swigs.”

With these words, Tom took his leave, first altering somewhat the disposition of his garments, divesting himself of the sash, placing the cap higher on his brows, and depositing the false beard in his pocket, while Primus, lighting a fresh pipe, sallied forth on his errand of benevolence.

As he approached he could hear plainer the halloo which Basset occasionally emitted from his trap.  The ears of the latter sharpened by expectation, caught the sound of the advancing steps, while as yet the deliverer was at too great a distance to see the hole, and his cries for assistance were redoubled.

“Help!” he cried, “help!  They want to murder me.  This way—­here, in the old well—­this way—­O, Lord!”

Such were the cries that saluted the ears of Primus, as soon as he was near enough to distinguish articulate sounds.

“Who dere?” cried the General.

“O, Prime, help us out of this tarnation hole,” groaned Basset.

“Onpossible! can dis be you, Missa Basset?” inquired Primus, peering over the edge of the pit.  “How come you dere?”

“Don’t ask no questions, now, though, I guess, you know as well as me.”

“His head turn wid de scare, probumbly,” soliloquized Primus, loud enough to be heard by the captive.  “I curus to larn how you fall in.  Ebberybody know dis hole, Missa Basset.”

“Haul me out, and I’ll let you know.”

There was something in the tone of voice that did not at all please the General, so looking around, and observing no one in sight, for it was a lonely place, and having all the advantage on his side, he resolved to parley, and secure satisfactory terms before he delivered the prisoner.

“I bery sorry for you, Missa Basset,” he said, “and if you wait awhile, I go to de village to git a rope to haul you out.”

But this proposition was far from suiting the constable.  Now that assistance was near at hand, he dreaded to lose it out of sight or hearing.  He knew there was no necessity for procuring any rope, and feared that if Primus put his threatened plan into execution, he would bring along with him a rabble of men and boys, to jeer at and ridicule his sufferings.  This now seemed worse than all he had already endured; he was, therefore, willing to make any compromise to avert the disaster.

“Don’t go, don’t go, Prime,” begged the constable.  “Just give us your hand, and pull us out of this infarnal place.  There’s no need of any rope.”