took hold of the handle of the windlass, swung off the great oaken
bucket, and watched it descend its often-traveled course, bumping
against the wet, slippery rocks with which the well was stoned.

Samanthy said: "You can't pull that up; it's heavy."

"Let me try," I said. "I never drew water with a windlass."

I had a much harder task than I supposed, but succeeded in swinging the
bucket onto the platform of the curb, and turned the water into
Samanthy's pail. I never asked permission to draw another bucketful.

I noticed below the well a large mound, grass-grown, with an apple-tree
growing on its very top. I wondered how it came there, and one day asked
Mr. Wetherell.

He said: "That's where we threw the rocks and gravel out of the well
fifty years ago; we never moved it. It grassed over, and the apple-tree
came up there; it bears a striped apple, crisp and sour."

I thought, What a freak of Nature! and I wished that many more piles of
rubbish might be transformed into such a pretty spot as this.

Below the mound stood the old hollow tree; its trunk was low and very
large, one side had rotted away, leaving it nearly hollow. Still there
was trunk enough left for the sap to run up; and every year it was
loaded with fruit.

Close by the path across the field to the road stood the Pang
apple-tree. This tree was named Pang because a dog by that name was