ore at such a time.
Does the place always throb in this way?"

"When the wheel is going fast," replied Will, "it gently shakes the
biggest beams."

"Sounds as if it might shake the place down in time."

"Oh, no," said Will; "it's too solid for that."

"Well," said Josh, "there's nobody doing anything here. If there was,
there'd be a light. It was only echoes. Come along."

"But if it was echoes," said Will, "why did they leave off?"

"Not so much water coming down perhaps," suggested Manners. "There,
isn't it nearly time to go and see if there are any more eels?"

"Hardly," replied Will, "but some might have come down. It's just as it
happens."

"Oh, yes," said Josh. "Sometimes there won't be one in a whole night,
and another time there'll be pounds and pounds in half an hour. It all
depends upon whether they are on the move."

They made for the lower door again at the bottom of the cage shed, and
entered the hollow, dismal place. Will felt for the lantern after
closing the door, struck a match, and, to the artist's satisfaction, the
rays fell upon several slimy, gleaming objects beyond the bars; and
after a good deal of splashing, writhing, and twining themselves in
knots, the prisoners were secured in a dripping basket that had been
held beneath the opening formed by drawing back the little grating.

"Capital!" cried Manners, eagerly. "Why, there must be half a dozen
pounds."

"Nearer a dozen," said Will. "Look out, Josh! Hit that chap over the
head, or he'll be out."

Josh struck at the basket-lid, but a big, serpent-like creature had half
forced its way through, to be down on the wet stone floor the next
moment, making at once for the water a couple of yards away.

"Stop him, Mr Manners! It's the biggest one. I can't leave the
basket."

"And I can't leave the light," said Josh; but, as they spoke, the artist
was in full pursuit, seeing as he did that a delicious morsel was going
to save itself from being turned into human food.

There was a quick trampling faintly heard on the wet stone floor,
followed by a rush, a glide, a heavy bump, and a roar of smothered
laughter.

"Yes, it's all very fine, young fellows," growled the artist, as he
gathered himself up; "a nasty, slimy beast! I tried to stop him with my
foot, and it was like the first step made in a skate. Has it gone?"

"Gone? Yes," cried Josh. "Never mind; there are plenty left. They're
awful things to hold. He would ha