were the three?
How many were alive? Were any dead? These and a thousand like questions
were asked and discussed, but nobody could answer them certainly.

The reports brought up were only regarding the progress of the work. So
many feet in an hour, so many yards a day. Now there are only six feet
more to cut through; now five, four, three, and now but eighteen inches.
The suspense is terrible. To the mothers and wives waiting for the end
up in the little village it is almost too great to be borne. To the
haggard men behind those eighteen inches of black rock it seems as
though the breath of fresh air for want of which they are dying would
come too late.

They press eagerly against the wall, and in their feebleness pick vainly
at it with their fingers. It will not yield. Even Monk Tooley, who was
so fierce and strong five days before, can make no impression on it.

Now but one foot of wall remains, and Tom Evert pauses in his task to
dash the sweat-drops from his eyes, and to call, as he has already a
dozen times,

"Holloa! Holloa in there!"

Like an echo comes the answer, faint but distinct,

"Holloa! Hurry!"

He only stops to call louder than before, but with a tremble in his
voice,

"Is--Paul--Evert--alive?" and with ear held against the wet wall he
breathlessly awaits the answer.

"Yes."

The word is enough, and with the fury and strength of a giant he again
attacks the wall. He pays no attention to the relief who is ready to
take his place. He knows nothing, cares for nothing, save that his boy
is waiting for him beyond those few inches of crumbling coal.

At last his pick strikes through. A few more desperate strokes and the
barrier is broken away. He springs into the breast. Another instant and
his crippled lad, whom he had thought never to see again, is strained to
his heart, and the burly miner is sobbing like a child.

CHAPTER XIX

RESTORED TO DAYLIGHT

In the overwhelming joy of the moment, Tom Evert had no thought save for
the son whom he had snatched from the very gates of death. He was
absolutely unconscious of the presence of another human being in the
breast, nor did the broken words of blessing and gratitude uttered by
the faint-voiced miners find their way to his ear. His instinct was to
get his lad out from that stifling, foul-aired place, and, still holding
him in his arms, he crawled back through the heading, was borne swiftly
across the waters from which he had snatched th