“What is it, then?”
“An old mine, where they bored for lead in the old, old days.”
“No,” said Vince stubbornly, “it’s what I say—the channel of an old stream; and you’ll see.”
“So will you, my lad, when we bring a lanthorn. I say you’ll find the walls sparkling with what-you-may-call-it—you know—that glittering lead ore, same as we’ve got specimens of in the cabinet at home.”
“No,” said Vince; “you’ll find that it’ll be all smooth, worn granite at the sides, where the water has been running for hundreds of years.”
“Till it all ran away. Very well, then: let’s go back at once and get a lanthorn and the rope.”
Vince laughed. “We’ve got to get home first, and by the time we’ve done that we shan’t want to make another journey to-day; but I say to-morrow afternoon, directly after dinner. Are you willing?”
“Of course.”
“And you’ll bring the rope?”
“To be sure; and you the crowbar and hammer?”