sometimes. Lad doesn't step on or off at the right
time, and he gets chopped between the step and the platform. It's awful
then. 'Bliged to be so very careful."

"Man who goes down a mine ought to be very careful."

"O' course, sir; but they things are horrid bad. I don't like 'em."

"But they can't be so dangerous as ladders, or going down in a bucket at
the end of a string or chain; you might fall, or the chain might break.
Such things do happen," said Gwyn.

"Ay, sir, they do sometimes; but I don't like a farkun. Accident's an
accident, and you must have some; but these are horrid, and we shall be
having some accident with that dog of yours if we don't mind."

"Accident?" said Gwyn. "What do you mean?"

"He'll be a-biting me, and I shall have to go into horspittle."

"Oh, he won't hurt you," cried Gwyn.

"Don't know so much about that, sir," said the man, grinning. "I should
say if he did bite he would hurt me a deal. Must have a precious nice
pair o' legs, or he wouldn't keep smelling 'em as he does, and then
stand licking his jaws."

"I tell you he won't hurt you," cried Gwyn. "Here, Grip--come away."

The dog looked up at his master, and passed his tongue about his lower
jaw.

"Look at that, sir," said Dinass, laughing; but there was a peculiar
look in his eyes. "Strikes me as he'd eat cold meat any day without
pickles."

"I'll take care he sha'n't bite your legs, with or without pickles,"
said Gwyn, laughing. "Come along, Joe, and let's go and have a talk to
Sam Hardock about the--what did he call it--far--far--what?"

"I don't know," replied Joe; "but somehow I wish Master Tom Dinass
hadn't been taken on."

"Going to have a man-engine, are they?" muttered Dinass, as he sat
watching the two lads from the corners of his eyes. "Seems to me that
things have gone pretty nigh far enough, and they'll have to be stopped.
Won't eat my legs with or without pickles, won't he? No, he won't if I
know it. Getting pretty nigh all the water out too. Well, I daresay
there'll be enough of it to drown that dog."

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

GRIP TAKES AN INTEREST.

"Now, Joe, this ought to be a big day," said Gwyn, one bright morning.
"Father's all in a fidget, and he looked as queer at breakfast as if he
hadn't slept all night."

"Wasn't any as if," replied Joe; "my father says he didn't sleep a wink
for thinking about the mine."

"Oh, but people often say they haven't slept a wink when they