same instant there were heavy steps going along on the other side
of the boilers to the stoke hole, a loud exclamation heard above the
hissing and shrieking of the steam. Then came the crackling of the coal
dust, the rattle of an iron implement, the furnace was closed with a
clang, and the steam between the boys and the far door changed back to
grey once more.

The next instant, as they went on, they were face to face with the big
bluff engine-driver, who shouted at them.

"Oh! it's you two young gents is it? Well, all I've got to say is that
if you're to come here meddling and playing your larks, someone else may
tend the bylers, for I won't."

"We haven't done anything," cried Gwyn, hotly.

"What!" roared the man, "when I come and ketched you fooling about with
that furnace door! Do you know that you might have made the fire rage
away if you got stoking hard, and perhaps blow up the whole place.
There's too much pressure on now."

"Will you let me speak!" cried Gwyn angrily. "We came in because
something was wrong, and no one near to see to the steam."

"Yes, there now; I only just went to that clumsy lot at the pump, to see
if they meant to start it to-day, because, if they didn't soon, I should
have to damp down. Twelve o'clock, they said, and as I told Sam
Hardock, there was I ready for them, but I s'pose he means twelve
o'clock to-morrow. And when I comes back, I find you young gents
playing the fool. D'yer want a big burst?"

"No," cried Gwyn, who had striven twice to stop the indignant flow of
words. "I tell you we came in because something was wrong--to try and
stop--"

"Wrong? Yes, you meddling with the furnace."

"We did not, I tell you."

"What? Well, if you young gents can't tell a good slumper, I'm a
Dutchman. Why, I heard you at the furnace door, and as soon as I
shouted, I hears you both roosh up the steps. Then I came round, and
here you are. Better say you didn't leave the door open."

"I do say so," shouted Gwyn, who had hard work to make himself heard
above the steam.

"Oh, all right, then. You're the governors' sons. Burst the bylers if
you like; they aren't mine."

"Will you listen?" cried Gwyn.

"Why, I am a-listening, aren't I?" cried the man. "All right, it warn't
you, then, and it must ha' been one o' they big Cornish tom-cats."

"Don't talk like a donkey," cried Gwyn, who had lost his temper now. "I
tell you we came in because something was wrong."

"Very