stare when the thread, instead of falling back to the ground,
remained hanging, just as if 'twas fastened to something up above;
but it made him stare more when Sarah Rowett began to climb up it,
and away up till nothing could be seen of her but her ankles dangling
out of the dead waste and middle of the night.

"HENDRY WATTY! HENDRY WATTY!"

It wasn't Sarah calling, but a voice far away out to sea.

"HENDRY WATTY! HENDRY WATTY! _send me a line_."

My grandfather was wondering what to do, when Sarah speaks down very
sharp to him, out of the dark:

"Hendry Watty! Where's the rocket apparatus? Can't you hear the
poor fellow asking for a line?"

"I do," says my grandfather, who was beginning to lose his temper;
"and do you think, ma'am, that I carry a Boxer's rocket in my
trousers pocket?"

"I think you have a ball of worsted in your hand," says she.
"Throw it as far as you can."

So my grandfather threw the ball out into the dead waste and middle
of the night. He didn't see where it pitched, or how far it went.

"Right it is," says the woman aloft. "'Tis easy seen you're a
hurler. But what shall us do for a cradle? Hendry Watty! Hendry