“You’d better not let them come to harm. I say, mind they don’t come down bang at the bottom,” said Gwyn, after what seemed to be a long time.
“He’ll see to that, sir,” said the man, nodding his head in the direction of the engineer.
“Yes, young gentlemen, that’s all right. I’ve got the depth to an inch, and they’ll come down as if on to a spring.”
“I say, how deep it seems,” said Joe, who also was rather breathless.
“Deep, sir!” said Dinass, with a laugh; “you don’t call this deep? Why, it’s nothing to some of the pits out Saint Just way—is it, mate?”
“Nothing at all,” said the engineer. “This is a baby.”
“Rather an old baby,” said Gwyn, smiling. “Why, this must be the oldest mine in Cornwall.”
“Dessay it is, sir,” said the man; and he checked the wheel as he spoke, just as an empty skep of the same size as that which had descended made its appearance and came to a standstill.
“Right!” came up from below, in a hollow whisper, and Gwyn drew a deep breath.
“You two ought to have gone with ’em,” said Dinass, “and had a look round.”