They had approached the singer till the ceiling was so low that it would have necessitated crawling to where Geoffrey could see by the light of a candle, stuck with a lump of clay against the rocky wall, a dark figure, half lying upon one side, vigorously working a sharp-pointed steel pickaxe, and chipping down fragments of glistening tin-grained quartz. On hearing the summons, the figure gave itself a roll over and crawled slowly out, when in the short, lame, thick-set miner Geoffrey recognised the man with the piece of conger eel who had explained the fishing to him on the cliff. "This is our Amos Pengelly," said the manager, as if he were showing one of the curiosities of the mine; "works all week-days and sings psalms; goes out preaching on Sundays." "Well," said Geoffrey, bluntly, "he might do worse." Amos nodded and looked curiously at the speaker, who went down on hands and knees to creep to where the miner had been at work; took down the candle from the wall, and examined the vein of glistening tin and the fragments that had been chipped off. "Very poor stuff," said Geoffrey, as he returned. "Ah, we work out poorer stuff than that," said the manager, "don't we, Amos?" "Ay," said the miner, looking eagerly at the visitor. "Was you thinking of buying this mine, sir?" "No!" said Geoffrey, shortly. "Surveying it for some one else, perhaps?" "What's the good of talking like that, Amos," said the manager, "when it is not for sale?" "I heered as it was," said Amos, still gazing searchingly at the well-built young man before him. "But whether it be or not, sir, if you wants to buy a good working and paying mine, you buy Wheal Carnac." "Ha, ha, ha, ha!" laughed the manager, a man who had evidently been himself a working miner. "Oh, come, Amos! I wonder at you who call yourself a Christian man trying to persuade a stranger to buy that old swindle." "I don't care!" cried Amos, excitedly, "Christian or no Christian," and he gave his pick a blow on the rock which made the sparks fly, "I know there's good stuff down that shaft, and if it arn't been found yet it's because they haven't looked in the right place. You go and look at it, sir, and see what you think." "Don't you do nothing of the sort, sir," said the manager. "It's a gashly old hole, down which thousands of pounds have been thrown, and machinery wasted over. Don't you take any notice of what Amos says." "All right," said the miner, making the sparks fly again as he smote the rock angrily. "I haven't worked underground man and boy for five and twenty year without knowing something about it, and as I'm a honest man, why Wheal Carnac's a fortune to them as know'd how to work it." "I'll have another look at the place," said Geoffrey, who was struck by the man's earnestness. "You just do, sir, you just do, and if that place don't turn out right, I'll--I'll--" "Swallow your pick heft, eh, Amos?" said the manager, tauntingly.