der) as one who could pay his footing,
and perhaps would be the master, when Uncle Ben should be choked with
money, I found the corb sent up for me rather sooner than I wished it.
For the smell of the places underground, and the way men's eyes came out
of them, with links, and brands, and flambeaux, instead of God's light
to look at, were to me a point of caution, rather than of pleasure.

No doubt but what some men enjoy it, being born, like worms, to dig, and
to live in their own scoopings. Yet even the worms come up sometimes,
after a good soft shower of rain, and hold discourse with one another;
whereas these men, and the horses let down, come above ground never.

And the changing of the sky is half the change our nature calls for.
Earth we have, and all its produce (moving from the first appearance,
and the hope with infants' eyes, through the bloom of beauty's promise,
to the rich and ripe fulfilment, and the falling back to rest); sea we
have (with all its wonder shed on eyes, and ears, and heart; and the
thought of something more)--but without the sky to look at, what would
earth, and sea, and even our own selves, be to us?

Do we look at earth with hope? Yes, for victuals only. Do we look at
sea with hope? Yes, that we may escape it. At the sky alone (though
questioned with the doubts of sunshine, or scattered with uncertain
stars), at the sky alone we look with pure hope and with memory.

Hence it always hurt my feelings when I got into that bucket, with my
small-clothes turned up over, and a kerchief round my hat. But knowing
that my purpose was sound, and my motives pure, I let the sky grow to
a little blue hole, and then to nothing over me. At the bottom Master
Carfax met me, being captain of the mine, and desirous to know my
business. He wore a loose sack round his shoulders, and his beard was
two feet long.

"My business is to speak with you," I answered rather sternly; for
this man, who was nothing more than Uncle Reuben's servant, had carried
things too far with me, showing no respect whatever; and though I did
not care for much, I liked to receive a little, even in my early days.

"Coom into the muck-hole, then," was his gracious answer; and he led me
into a filthy cell, where the miners changed their jackets.

"Simon Carfax," I began, with a manner to discourage him; "I fear you are
a shallow fellow, and not worth my trouble."

"Then don't take it," he replied; "I want no man's trouble."

"Fo