Racking my brains for some means of overcoming the difficulty, I
suddenly bethought myself of trying a ruse. I said nothing of my
intention to Punchard (to the others I had as yet not breathed a
word of our purpose) but the next time I went to the well I took a
knife with me, and, choosing a portion of the rope where it was
much frayed, I carefully sawed through one or two of the strands
with the blunt edge. The result was that when I was drawing the
full bucket up, the rope snapped, the bucket fell to the bottom
with a clatter, and I (to make the accident more convincing)
toppled over on my back. Up came one of the guard, and rated me
soundly for my clumsiness, employing a succession of abusive terms
which I stored in my memory for use in case of need.
I picked myself up slowly, rubbing my back, and, putting on the
most innocent air in the world, I pointed to the frayed rope and
asked whether my corrector could expect such a thing as that to
last for ever. The man grumbled a good deal, but the condition of
the rope admitted no answer to my question, and I had the
satisfaction next day of seeing a brand new rope attached to a
brand new bucket. I even had the pleasure of using it for the first
time, for the old rope having broken when I was on duty, I was
condemned to the punishment of drawing water for a week afterwards,
an extension of my task which I bore with wonderful cheerfulness.
When I told Punchard of what I had done he laughed with great
delight, but immediately became very sober.
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