"Oh, there isn't any real Moose," said the man. "That's only the name of the mine. I don't know why they called the mine the Moose mine. They give mines the queerest kind o' names."
"What is a mine, anyhow?" asked Rob.
"Oh," said the man, "I forgot you didn't know that. A mine's a hole in the ground, or in the side of a mountain, where they dig out gold or silver. There's mines that's miles and miles big, underground, with passages running every way like streets."
"How do they see down there?" said Rob.
"They carry lanterns, and there are lanterns fastened up in the walls."
"Is your wagon all full of silver?" asked Nelly, in a low tone.
"Not exactly all silver yet," the man said, laughing; "there's a good deal of silver in it: it's very good ore."
"It looked just like gray rock," said Rob.
"Well, that's what it is," replied the man; "it's gray rock. It's got to be all pounded up fine in a mill, and then it's got to be roasted with salt in a great oven, and then it's got to be mixed with chemicals and things. I don't rightly know just what it is they do to it; it's a heap of work I know, before it ever gets to be the pure silver."
"Some day I will take you, Rob," said his father, "where you can see all this done: I want to see it myself. Run out, now, you and Nelly, and play, and let the driver rest. He is too tired to talk any more."