his life, I believe, and never ventured to come again. But we put the blame of that upon you. And I see that we were wrong, John." Here he looked at me with keen eyes, though weak.
"You were altogether wrong," I answered. I mean enough to spy upon any one dwelling with us? And more than that, Uncle Reuben, it was mean of you to suppose it."
"All ideas are different," replied the old man to my heat, like a little worn-out rill running down a smithy; "you with your strength, and youth, and all that, are inclined to be romantic. I take things as I have known them, going on for seventy years. Now will you come and meet the wizard, or does your courage fail you?"
"My courage must be none," said I, "if I would not go where you go, sir."
He said no more, but signed to me to lift a heavy wooden corb with an iron loop across it, and sunk in a little pit of carth, a yard or so from the mouth of the shaft. I raised it, and by his direction dropped it into the throat of the shaft, where it hung and shook from a great cross-beam laid at the level of the earth. A very stout thick rope was fastened to the handle of the corb, and ran across a pulley hanging from the centre of the beam, and thence out of sight in the nether places.
"I will first descend," he said; "your weight is too great for safety. When the bucket comes up again, follow me, if your heart is good."
Then he whistled down, with a quick sharp noise,
