He spoke as I say in a whisper, but it was heard by my father, who answered quietly:
“We should have to go down much lower before we were on a level with the sea at high-water mark, my lads. If anything were likely to do us any harm, it would be the brook.”
He stopped soon after, for we had reached the end of the gallery, giving way while a workman wheeled by us a barrowful of ore, similar to a heap which two others were hewing and picking out of the wall.
“Well, my lads, what’s it like?” said my father.
“Cleaner and richer and better, I should say, master,” said one of the men. “It’s a wonder, but I’m thinking you’ll have to put more power on there to pump. Farther we goes, the worse the water gets.”
“I’ve been thinking so myself,” said my father quietly. “It sha’n’t stop you, my lads, I’ll see to that.”
My father picked up a specimen of the ore, and placed it in his pocket; the men resumed their picking and hewing, and we two lads inspected the lode and the walls of the mine, and then, after looking at it up, down, and in every direction, to try and find something more interesting than the square passage with its dripping walls and patches of black mineral that glistened in a dull manner when the light was moved, we ended by staring at my father.
“Well,” he said smiling; “had enough?”
“Is there no more to see than this?” I said in a disappointed tone.
“There is another gallery below here, and two above, but they are just the same. Shall we go and see them?”