"What a bother! I'd have a try, but my hands are regularly wet. The
stones down here are dripping and oozing."

"Don't you stir," cried Mark. "I'll try again, and give my fingers a
good rub first on my sleeve."

"Yes, do; and mind you don't touch the round tip of the match."

"I'm afraid I must have done so to all of them."

"Afraid be hanged!" said Dean impetuously. "What is there to be afraid
of? Now, don't hurry. I'm getting as cool as a dessert ice; and you
are getting better, arn't you?"

"Ye-es."

"Well, it doesn't sound like it. You don't seem to be yourself, old
chap. You know I always look up to you as being more plucky than I am.
Here we are getting better every minute, and there is nothing to hurry
about. They won't begin the supper till we get back. Leave the matches
alone for a minute or two and give a good hail. They must be looking
for us."

"No, no; I can't shout now."

"Why?"

"Oh, I don't know. There, I must strike another match."

"No, you mustn't. Give a good hail."

"I can't, I tell you."

"Well, I can," cried Dean. "I don't feel a bit frightened of bogeys
now."

"Ahoy-y-y-y-y!" he shouted, and there was a hollow echoing noise, but
nothing approaching what they had heard before.

Then they listened till the reverberations died out; but there was no
hopeful sound to cheer them, and with a low despairing sigh which he
tried in vain to suppress, Mark drew another carefully selected match
across the side of the box. This time there was a flash, the head of
the tiny wax taper blazed out, illumined the square hole into which Dean
had slipped, and revealed him about a dozen feet below where his cousin
was holding the match.

"Quick!" cried Dean. "Get another out and light it before you burn your
fingers. Well done--that's the way! Hold it more over. I want to
reconnoitre, as the soldiers say."

"Be careful!" panted Mark. "Mind you don't slip."

"Trust me," said Dean. "No, no, don't light another. It will only be
waste, because I have seen it all."

"I had better light another match," cried Mark hoarsely.

"No, you hadn't. Chuck that down; you are burning your fingers."

The still burning end of the tiny taper lit up the sides of the square
hole as it descended to the surface of the water and was extinguished
with a faint _spet_.

"Now then," cried Dean, "I have got it all fixed at the back of my eyes
like what old Buck calls a fortygraff, and just where I