with a tinder-box, on a shelf in the wall of rock beside me. Then they filed out, and the narrow door shut with a loud bang. We peered through at the fading flicker of the candles. They threw wavering, ghostly shadows on every wall of the dark passage, and suddenly went out of sight. We both stood listening a moment.
"Curse the luck!" I whispered presently.
"Jest as helpless es if we was hung up by the heels," said D'ri, groping his way to the straw pile. "Ain' no use gittin' wrathy."
"What 'll we do?" I whispered.
"Dunno," said he; "an' when ye dunno whut t' dew, don' dew nuthin'. Jest stan' still; thet 's whut I b'lieve in."
He lighted the candle, and went about, pouring its glow upon every wall and into every crack and corner of our cell—a small chamber set firm in masonry, with a ceiling so far above our heads we could see it but dimly, the candle lifted arm's-length.
"Judas Priest!" said D'ri, as he stopped the light with thumb and finger. "I 'm goin' t' set here 'n th' straw luk an ol' hen 'n' ile up m' thinker 'n' set 'er goin'. One o' them kind hes
