but some spirit of the mine? This, at least,
was the opinion commonly spread among the superstitious Scotch.

In the first rank of the believers in the supernatural in the Dochart
pit figured Jack Ryan, Harry's friend. He was the great partisan of
all these superstitions. All these wild stories were turned by him into
songs, which earned him great applause in the winter evenings.

But Jack Ryan was not alone in his belief. His comrades affirmed, no
less strongly, that the Aberfoyle pits were haunted, and that certain
strange beings were seen there frequently, just as in the Highlands. To
hear them talk, it would have been more extraordinary if nothing of the
kind appeared. Could there indeed be a better place than a dark and deep
coal mine for the freaks of fairies, elves, goblins, and other actors
in the fantastical dramas? The scenery was all ready, why should not the
supernatural personages come there to play their parts?

So reasoned Jack Ryan and his comrades in the Aberfoyle mines. We have
said that the different pits communicated with each other by means of
long subterranean galleries. Thus there existed beneath the county of
Stirling a vast tract, full of burrows, tunnels, bored with caves,
and perforated with shafts, a subterranean labyrinth, which might be
compared to an enormous ant-hill.

Miners, though belonging to different pits, often met, when going to or
returning from their work. Consequently there was a constant opportunity
of exchanging talk, and circulating the stories which had their origin
in the mine, from one pit to another. These accounts were transmitted
with marvelous rapidity, passing from mouth to mouth, and gaining in
wonder as they went.

Two men, however, better educated and with more practical minds than the
rest, had always resisted this temptation. They in no degree believed
in the intervention of spirits, elves, or goblins. These two were Simon
Ford and his son. And they proved it by continuing to inhabit the dismal
crypt, after the desertion of the Dochart pit. Perhaps good Madge, like
every Highland woman, had some leaning towards the supernatural. But
she had to repeat all these stories to herself, and so she did, most
conscientiously, so as not to let the old traditions be lost.

Even had Simon and Harry Ford been as credulous as their companions,
they would not have abandoned the mine to the imps and fairies. For ten
years, without missing a single day, obstinate and immov