s long enough, or almost."

"Oh, Agnes," I cried, "you thought of all this for me?"

"Why, of course, Mr. Cuthbert," she answered, before I had a chance to
say anything more. "You were in great danger of perishing before the men
got to you, and nobody seemed to think of any way to give you immediate
relief. And don't you think that a collegiate education is a good thing
for girls--at least, that it was for me?"

"Agnes," I exclaimed, "please let me speak. I want to tell you, I must
tell you--"

But the voice of Agnes was clearer than mine and it overpowered my
words. "Mr. Cuthbert," she said, "we can not both speak through this
tube at the same time in opposite directions. I have here a bottle of
water for you, but I am very much afraid it will not go through the
diploma case."

"Oh, I don't want any water," I said. "I can eat ice if I am thirsty.
What I want is to tell you-"

"Mr. Cuthbert," said she, "you must not eat that ice. Water that was
frozen countless ages ago may be very different from the water of modern
times, and might not agree with you. Don't touch it, please. I am going
to push the bottle through if I can. I tried to think of everything that
you might need and brought them all at once; because, if I could
not keep the hole open, I wanted to get them to you without losing a
minute."

Now the bottle came slowly through. It was a small beer-bottle, I think,
and several times I was afraid it was going to stick fast and cut off
communication between me and the outer world--that is to say, between me
and Agnes. But at last the cork and the neck appeared, and I pulled it
through. I did not drink any of it, but immediately applied my mouth to
the tube.

"Agnes," I said, "my dear Agnes, really you must not prevent me from
speaking. I can not delay another minute. This is an awful position for
me to be in, and as you don't seem to realize--"

"But I do realize, Mr. Cuthbert, that if you don't walk about you will
certainly freeze before you can be rescued. Between every two or three
words you want to take at least one turn around that place. How dreadful
it would be if you were suddenly to become benumbed and stiff! Everybody
is thinking of that. The best diggers that Mr. Burton had were three
colored men; but after they had gone down nothing like as deep as
a well, they came up frightened and said they would not dig another
shovelful for the whole world. Perhaps you don't know it, but there's a
story