ve
a mule or find work in the mine. Therefore he had promised to try and
secure a place for his crippled friend, and had finally succeeded.

Paul was struggling bravely to finish this long, weary first day's work
in a manner that should reflect credit upon his protector; but the hours
seemed to drag into weeks, and each minute he feared he should break
down entirely. He tried to hide the cruel slate cuts on his hands, nor
let Derrick discover how his back ached, and how he was choked by the
coal-dust. He even attempted to smile when Derrick spoke to him, though
his ear, unaccustomed to the noise of the machinery and the rushing
coal, failed to catch what was said.

While the crippled lad, in company with a hundred other boys, was thus
anxiously awaiting the welcome sound of the shutting-down whistle, at
the first blast of which the torrents of coal would cease to flow, and
they would all rush for the stairway that led out-of-doors, the air
gradually became filled with something even more stifling than
coal-dust--something that choked them and made their eyes smart. It was
the pungent smoke of burning wood; and by the time they fully realized
its presence the air was thick with it, and to breathe seemed wellnigh
impossible. Then, just as the boys were beginning to start from their
seats, and cast frightened glances at each other, the machinery stopped;
and amid the comparative silence that followed they heard the cry of
"Fire!" and the voice of the breaker boss shouting, "Clear out of this,
you young rascals! Run for your lives! Don't you see the breaker's
afire?"

As he spoke a great burst of flame sprang up one of the waste chutes
from the boiler-room beneath them, and with a wild rush the hundred boys
made towards the one door-way that led to the open air and safety.

Obeying the impulse of the moment, Derrick sprang toward it with the
rest. Before he could reach it a faint cry of "Derrick, oh, Derrick,
don't leave me!" caused him to turn and begin a desperate struggle
against the mass of boys who surged and crushed behind him. Several
times he thought he should be borne through the door-way, but he fought
with such fury that he finally won his way back out of the crowd and to
where Paul was still sitting.

"Come on, Polly," he cried, "we haven't any time to lose."

"I can't, Derrick," was the answer; "my crutch is gone."

Surely enough, the lame boy's crutch, which had been leaned against the
wall behind him,