out the corpse of Harry was at the bottom of the well.  It was a long time before any body could be induced to go into that well, as well because it was very deep as on account of the prevalent report in the neighborhood that Gulvert’s father had killed a negro and cast him into the well, with heavy weights attached to him.  After several unsuccessful attempts to raise the body, they at length succeeded, by the aid and undaunted courage of a young man who was just after riding up to the crowd, and who, on learning the cause of such a gathering, generously volunteered to go into the well, notwithstanding the hints he received from some of the bystanders that the “nigger” was at the bottom.  In a few minutes Paul O’Clery was at the bottom of the “enchanted well,” and, amid shouts of “Bravo!” and “Well done!” almost instantly returned, with the lifeless body of little Harry in his arms.  But what’s this that he finds tangled in the drowned child’s hands?  It is surely the beads of his beloved mother, which she bequeathed as her dying legacy to his youngest brother Eugene.  How did it get into the well?  He trembled visibly as it struck his mind that possibly Eugene might have fallen in too.

“Are you sure there is nobody else in?” said he to the bystanders.

“No, there ain’t nobody else in,” said Gulvert; “all we have left, now, are around here.”

“And how came this relic to get into the well?” said Paul.  “I think I saw this before.”

“That?  O, that’s a toy that a young Papist orphan which we had used to say his prayers on.”

“And where is that orphan now?  O, tell me, where is he?  For God’s sake tell me, where is my beloved brother?” exclaimed Paul.

“He is dead.”

“O, don’t mock me, but tell me the truth.  I assure you I am a brother of the orphan child, Eugene O’Clery.  What has become of him?”

“We do not joke, my young gentleman,” said an aged man in the crowd.  “Your brother, the orphan you allude to, died suddenly on the night of the first of this month, and was interred in yon mound on the second of the month.”

“O Lord!  O Lord! grant me patience.  O my brother!  O Eugene!  O beloved child of our hearts! what has become of you?  Did you die on your bed, or meet with an accident? or how did these beads you loved so well come into this horrid, pestiferous well?  O, woe is me!  Why did I ever let you out of my sight?  Why did I not remain in servitude and slavery, rather than let you into the care of the cruel, false-hearted stranger?  O villanous deceiver!  O infamous prevaricator!  Parson Dilman, why did I listen to your seductive promises?”