of it, and there we are. Now we
can see what we're about," he continued, as he swung the lanthorn above
his head; "and not much to see nayther. Only an 'ole. Yes, of course.
There you are. Sheep's bones. Dessay many a one's tumbled down here.
Hole don't go up very high," he added, once more raising the lanthorn
above his head; "but it goes down to the sea for sartain."

"Oh, Samson, and you've left the line up above. If we had it here, we
might have swung the lanthorn down and seen how deep it was."

"That's just like you, Master Fred," said Samson. "You always think
other folk will do what you'd do. You'd ha' left the line up at the
top, same as you did your clothes, but being only a gardener, and a very
bad one, as my brother Nat says, I put that there line in my pocket, and
here it is."

Fred's answer was a slap on Samson's hard broad back, as he tied one end
of the line to the lanthorn-ring, swung it over the edge of the shelf,
and they watched it go down sixty or seventy feet, feebly illumining the
sides of the cave, and as it grew lower an additional radiance was
displayed by the light striking on the bottom, which proved to be full
of water kept slightly in motion by the influx of the waves outside.

"Not much to see, my lads," said Samson. "No gold, nor silver, nor
nothing. Shouldn't wonder if there's pigeons' nesties, though, only you
couldn't get at 'em without a ladder. There! seen enough?"

"No; I want to see whether there is any way down," said Fred.

"Any way down?" said Samson, swinging the lanthorn to and fro. "No, my
lad--yes, there is. Easily get down at that corner. Slide down or slip
down. See!"

"Yes," said the lads in a breath; and long afterwards they recalled
their eagerness to know about a means of descent from that shelf.

"Yes," said Samson; "you might make a short cut down to the sea this way
if you wanted to. But you don't want to, and it wouldn't be any good if
you did, because you'd be obliged to have a boat outside; and if the
boat wasn't well-minded, it would soon be banged to matchwood among the
rocks. There, my bit o' ground's waiting to be dug, and I've got you
two out of your hobble, so here goes back."

As he spoke, he rapidly hauled up the lanthorn, forming the line into
rings, untying the end from the ring, and, after giving it a twist,
thrusting it back into his pocket, while he undid the strap he wore
about his waist, thrust an end through the lanthorn