He turned his face to the opening and went in. Dim as the light was, he recognised almost at once that he was at the end of a mine adit. Within a few paces the fissure narrowed to a dwarf tunnel, through which a tiny stream trickled, disappearing, not over the ledge into the cave, but into a fissure in the wall of rock. There was space for only two persons to pass abreast, and as Dick proceeded, he had to bend his head to avoid striking the roof. He was about to explore further, when he remembered that the candle in his hat could not last more than a few minutes, and to advance in the dark would be foolhardy. He had no more candles, and supposed that Sam had none, so that it seemed as if he must postpone further exploration. But returning to the ledge, he saw a light in the cave. "You’ve got some more candle-ends, then?" he cried. "One, that I’ve just fished up out of my pocket along with a bit of string, some bait, a bit o’ pudden that I’d forgot—can’t eat it now, hungry as I be, ’cos ’tis all tallowed—and a green penny." "I want the candle, Sam; mine’s going out. Can you pitch it up?" "I can, but it ’ud only fall back into the water and go to the bottom." "Wait. I’ve a bit of string in my pocket. I’ll let it down; tie the candle on." "I must do it, I suppose. Iss, you shall have it, and I’ll be left in the dark, but I’m not afeard—not very." In a minute Dick had the fresh candle in his hat-band, and once more entered the tunnel. It was very damp, and Dick guessed from the trickling stream at his feet that the adit had been designed, when the mine was in operation, to drain the upper workings. How long ago this was he had no idea. It must have been long before old Reuben’s time, or the man would have had more definite knowledge than he actually possessed, and the existence of the opening would have been known as a fact instead of being a mere fragment of village tradition.