Several minutes after the others had begun their meal, Radlett appeared at breakfast, still struggling against sleepiness. Not even the clear early morning air had thoroughly aroused him. Breakfasts at half-past six were a distinct and not wholly appreciated novelty to Baird. He slipped into his place beside Jean, and endeavored to parry her banter upon his indolence. Stephen, at his side of the table, was occupied in dispensing the platter of “flap jacks,” which Wah, beaming with appreciation of their excellence, had set before him to serve. “At what time do we visit the mine?” asked Jean across the table. “As soon after breakfast as you and your father are ready,” answered Stephen. “The air is much better early in the day, before they have begun to shoot down there. But I wish that you would change your mind about going.” Jean turned to the mine foreman for assistance. “It is perfectly safe, isn’t it, Mr. Burns? I know that all my father and Mr. Loring think is that I shall be in the way.” Burns laboriously protested against such an idea, and clumsily promised to look after her safety. In the minutes that preceded the seven o’clock whistle, one by one the men straggled off to their work, nodding respectfully to Jean and her father as they left, and calling out parting gibes at Wah. By the time that the whistle blew, the line of ponies picketed to the fence before the mess had disappeared, and the community was at work. As soon after breakfast as Mr. Cameron had smoked his morning cigar, he joined Radlett and Loring, and with Miss Cameron all walked up to the mouth of the nearest shaft. Burns met them at the shaft house, and selected from the pile of oilskins a “slicker” for Miss Cameron. She struggled helplessly with the stiff button-holes, and Loring was obliged to button the coat for her. His fingers, though stronger than hers, were not much more efficient, owing to their trembling. “Where are the candles, Burns?” asked Loring. Burns pointed to a box in one corner of the shaft house. Stephen took out a half dozen, and handed one to each of the visitors. He put a broken one into the spike candle holder which he carried, and slipped the others into his capacious pockets. The “skip” shot up and was unloaded. “All ready!” called Burns, steadying the bucket by the level of the shaft mouth. Jean stepped forward and looked at the bucket just a bit askance. Loring showed her how to place her hands on the heavy iron links above the swivel, and how to stand on the edge of the bucket with her heels over the edge. “Look out that your skirt does not hit against the side of the shaft!” was his final injunction. “Can we go down now?” he asked Burns. “One second,” answered the foreman. “There is a load of sharpened drills to go down with us.” In a moment the little “nipper” appeared with his armful of drills, and with a ringing clatter dropped them into the bottom of the bucket.