“Nay, there’s no fear, my lad; but I hope we’re not going to have no more o’ this sort o’ thing. There’s the pumping stopped and everything out o’ gear, but it’s always the way when there’s boys about. I never could understand what use they were, on’y to get in mischief and upset the work. We sha’n’t get much tin out o’ Ydoll mine if you two’s going to hang about, I know that much. Now, then, the rope aren’t safe.”
“Yes, it is,” said Gwyn, who had made a loop and passed it over his head and arms. “I’m not going to swing. I’m going to walk up.”
“Ready, my lad?” cried the Colonel.
“Yes, father; but I’ll climb up, please. You can have the rope hauled on as I come.”
“Come on, then,” cried the Colonel.
“Yes, father, coming.”
“Hor, hor!” laughed Hardock, derisively, as he drew back to the full extent of his arms so as to set Gwyn free. “Up you goes, my lad, led just like a puppy-dog at the end of a string. Mind you don’t fall.”
“If it wasn’t so dangerous for you, I’d kick you, Sam,” said Gwyn.
“Kick away, then, my lad; ’taint the first time I’ve been on a ladder by a few thousand times. My hands and feet grows to a ladder, like, and holds on. You won’t knock me off. But I say!”
“What is it?” said Gwyn, who was steadily ascending, with the rope held fairly taut from above.