Mary admitted the thing was possible, so she stalked off for the bread-pan, while Peter completed the installation by running the wire through his door, along the roof, and twisting it about the "bit o' rope" holding the little bottle which he fondly imagined would soon be radiant. "Bain't a first-class job, but I'll finish him proper to-morrow," he said. "Turn thikky tap!" cried excited Mary. "Aw, Peter, wun't the volks look yaller when they sees 'en?" The folks were not destined to look yellow, but Peter and Mary were soon looking blue when repeated turning of the tap failed to lighten their darkness. It was not such a simple matter as tapping a cask of cider after all. They turned and twisted until the hut was dark and dreary, but not a farthing's worth of rush-light was produced. "Mebbe the wire's been and broke," suggested Peter hopefully. He lighted his lantern, and they tramped together down the cleave, following the wire all the way to the river and finding it intact. Presumably it was the waterfall which was not doing its duty. They returned to their gloomy huts, the one sorrowful, the other angry. "You'm a gurt dafty-headed ole vule! That's what yew be!" cried the angry one, when they reached the top of the cleave. Peter received this opinion with unwonted humility; and replied as meekly as any Christian martyr: "He be gone wrong somehow. I'll put 'en right to-morrow." "Put 'en right, will ye?" cried Mary scornfully. "How be I to mix bread' and get supper? You'm a proper old horniwink, and I hopes the dogs 'll have ye." These curses aroused Peter. He spat upon the ground, and drew mystic figures with his boot between Mary and himself. Having done what he could to avert the evil, he turned upon Mary and threatened her with the lantern. She continued her insults, having lost her temper completely, not so much because Peter had failed in his electrical engineering, as because she had an idea he had been making a fool of her. They were both ignorant, but one did not know it and was brazen, while the other was aware of it and was sensitive. She went on calling him weird names, and hoping the whist hounds would hunt him, until he lost his temper too. They had never quarrelled so violently before, but Peter was helpless in spite of his big threats, for Mary could have tackled and beaten two men as strong as her little brother. When he came to close quarters she picked him up, lantern and all, cuffed him, carried him into her hut, and snatching up her bulging umbrella whacked him well over the head with it.