"Light? Ay, my lad," was the reply, and the rough fellow brought out a brass box of matches, and handed it to Geoffrey, who coolly opened it, struck a match, and sheltered light and pipe between the hollow of his hands, drew vigorously, and puffed out clouds of smoke between his fingers, after which he returned the box with a bluff "Thanky!" "Where does Amos Pengelly live?" he said then. "Up yon turn, ninth house, with a green door," said Tom Jennen. "There's a gashly old bit o' rock opposite." As he spoke, he pointed to a narrow steep path which Geoffrey had passed, and which necessitated his running the gauntlet again, as it were. But he was equal to the task. "I say, fisherman," he said, addressing Tom Jennen, but meaning it for the group, "If I were you I should use the rope's-end there, and try to make those cowardly young lubbers men!" Then thrusting his hands into his pockets, he walked coolly back, looking woman after woman in the face, turned up the passage, and was gone. No sooner was his back turned, than the boys uttered a yell, and made as if to throw, but the women turned upon them fiercely, and Tom Jennen and his mates cleared the road by making a menacing charge. "Well, of all the smart young chaps as ever I set eyes on," said one woman, "he's about the best. Put that there gashly old fish down, Jan Dwiod, or I'll give you a smack i' th' mouth." "That's pluck, that is," said Tom Jennen, with his hands very far down in his pockets. "That's the sorter stuff as men's made on. That's pluck, that is," he continued, nodding at every one in turn, and then at intervals repeating the words--"that's pluck!" Geoffrey did not know it then, but his cool treatment of the party lying in wait for him, had made him, as it were, a king, and in place of menace on his next appearance in the streets there was a smile on every lip, and he might have had the help of all for the holding up of a hand. Meanwhile he had reached Pengelly's cottage to knock and be told by a woman next door that the owner was gone out preaching, and wouldn't be back till night. "Ask him to run up to Mrs Mullion's when he comes," said Geoffrey, and the woman promising to convey his message, he went back to his lodgings to dine and complete his plans. CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. A NIGHT AT THE MINE. As Geoffrey rattled the garden gate he heard a rustle at one of the windows, and, looking up, there was Madge ready to welcome him with a smile. "Oh! you're there, are you, madam," he said to himself. "How are you?" He nodded to her civilly enough, and was going on to the house, when from out of the look-out there came a rough "Hallo!" "Hallo, old gentleman!" said Geoffrey, and, turning aside, he entered the summer-house, where Uncle Paul sat smoking, cane in hand, with which he pointed up towards the window where Madge had been. "Why didn't you kiss your hand at her, eh?" snarled Uncle Paul. "Didn't think of it, old fellow," replied Geoffrey, coolly.