unknown, which is the most startling thing in nature, from the fact that
our busy brains are always ready to dress it up in the most weird way,
especially if the unknown lies in the dark.

But no more was said, for Vince was busy opening his basket, out of
which he drew an old-fashioned horn lanthorn and gave it to Mike to
hold, while he took something else out of the creel, which rattled as it
was moved.

"Why, you've only brought half a candle," said Mike, who had opened the
lanthorn, and held it so that the rays which streamed down through the
brambles overhead fell in its interior. "What shall we do when that
burns out?"

"Light one of the pieces I've got in my pockets," said Vince coolly, as
he sat down on the water-worn granite, and placed a round, flattish tin
box between his knees. "Didn't bring a cushion with you, did you?"

"Cushion? No; what for?"

"One to sit on: this is precious hard."

And then _scratch, scratch_: a rub of a tiny wax match upon the sanded
side of a box, and a flash of red, dim light followed by a clear white
flame?

Nothing of the kind: matches of that sort had not been invented fifty or
sixty years ago. Whoever wanted a light had to go to work as Vince
prepared to do, after placing a thin slip of wood sharpened at each end
and dipped in brimstone ready to hand. Taking a piece of steel or iron
bent round so as to form a rough handle to be grasped, while the
knuckles were guarded by the edge of the steel, this was held over the
tin box, which was, on the inner lid or press being removed, half full
of burned cotton ash now forming the tinder that was to catch the
sparks.

Vince was pretty handy at the task from old experience, and gripping the
box tightly between his knees he made the hollow, cavernous place echo
again as he struck the steel in his left hand with a piece of
sharp-edged flint held in his right.

_Nick, nick, nick, nick_--the nearly forgotten sound that used to rise
in early morning from the kitchen before a fire could be lit--and _nick,
nick, nick, nick_ again, here in the narrow opening, where the rays of
sunshine shot down and made the sparks which flew from flint and steel
look pale as they shot downward at every stroke the lad gave.

Mike felt nervous at the idea of penetrating the depths below them, and
to hide this nervousness he chattered, and said the first thing that
came to his lips in a bantering tone:

"Here! you are a fellow to get a light. L