erful. There
are sure to be plenty of crystals and stalactites and wonderful caverns
and places. Oh, I do wish we were going down."

"I don't know that I do now--the place will be horribly damp."

"Fox again."

"Look here, Gwyn Pendarve, if you wish to quarrel, say so, and I'll go
somewhere else."

"But I don't want to quarrel, Joseph Jollivet, Esquire," said Gwyn,
imitating the other's stilted way of speaking. "What's the good of
quarrelling with you?"

Joe picked up a stone and threw it as far as he could, so as to get rid
of some of his irritability; and Grip, who had been sitting watching the
boys, wondering what was the matter, went off helter-skelter, found the
stone, and brought it back crackling against his sharp white teeth,
dropped it at Joe's feet, and began to dance about and make leaps from
the ground, barking, as if saying, "Throw it again--throw it again!"

"Lie down, you old stupid!" cried Gwyn.

"Let him have a run," said Joe, picking up the stone and jerking it as
far as he could over the short grassy down, the dog tearing off again.

"Ugh! Look at your hand," said Gwyn, "all wet with the dog's
`serlimer,' as the showman called it."

"Oh, that's clean enough," said Joe; but he gave his hand a rub on the
grass all the same.

The dog came back panting, and Joe picked up the stone to give it
another jerk, but, looking round for a fresh direction in which to throw
it, he dropped the piece of granite.

"Come on!" he shouted, as he started off; "they're going to the shaft."

Gwyn glanced in the direction of the mine, and started after Joe, raced
up to him, and they ran along to the building over the mouth, getting
there just at the same time as the Colonel and Major Jollivet, the dog
coming frantically behind.

"Well, boys," cried the Colonel, "here we are, you see. Wish us luck."

"Of course I do, father," said Gwyn. "But you'd better let us come,
too."

"No, no, no, no," said the Colonel, "better wait a bit. Besides, you
are not dressed for it. We are, you see."

He smilingly drew attention to their shooting caps and boots and long
mackintoshes.

"Yes," said the Major, laughing, "we're ready for a wet campaign."

Gwyn was not in the habit of arguing with his father, whose quietest
words always carried with them a military decision which meant a great
deal, so he was silent, and contented himself with a glance at Joe, who
took his cue from him and remained quiet.

Several of