“Come now,” said Bart. “See here, Pat. You spoke of a tunnel once. In fact we came down here with the pickaxe on purpose to make a tunnel to the money-hole. Well, we’re after something more precious than money--life itself. Can’t we tunnel up to life?” “Tunnel, is it?” cried Pat, in great excitement. “Of coorse we can. Ye’ve jist hit it, so you have. It’s what we’ll do. We will thin.” “The soil here seems like clay; and if we cut up behind this casing, it’ll be comparatively safe,” said Bart. “We need only cut up to the planks.” “Sure an we’ll have to cut up to the top.” “O, no! When we get to the planks, we can break through, and climb them like a ladder to the top. Once up to the planks, and we’re safe.” “Break through the plankin is it? Sure enough; right are you; that’s what we’ll do, so it is.” “And so that makes only thirty feet to cut away. It’ll be hard work cutting upwards; but you and I ought to manage it, Pat, when our lives are at stake.” “Manage it? Of coorse; why not? Only we haven’t got that bit of a pick with us, so we haven’t, for we left it down below; an sorra one of me knows what’s become of it. It may be buried under the roons of the fallin logs.” At this Bart looked at Pat with something like consternation. “Well,” said he at length, “we’ll have to go down again--one of us; we must have that pickaxe. I’ll go.” “Sure an you won’t,” said Pat; “meself’s the one that’s goin to go.” “No, you shan’t. Poh! Don’t be absurd.” “Sure I’m bound to go; and so don’t you go too. There’s not the laste nicissity in life for both of us to go.” “O, well, then,” said Bart, “we’ll have to toss up for it. That’s all.” And saying this, he took out a piece of money, and said to Pat,-- “Head or Tail?” “Tail.” said Pat. Bart tossed. Pat lost. It was Pat’s business therefore to go down. “Sure an it’s aisy climbin,” said Pat, “an the pick’ll be a help whin I return.” With these words he departed. Seated on the log, Bart looked down, watching Pat’s descent. They had climbed about half way up the pit, and Pat had about fifty feet to go down. Looking down, it was dark, and Pat at length disappeared from view. Bart could only hear him as he moved about. At length there was a deep stillness. Bart grew alarmed. “Pat!” he called. No answer came. “Pat!” he called again. Still no answer. “Pat!” he called, as loud as he could, for he was now thoroughly frightened. As he called, he put his feet over, and prepared to descend. “I’m here,” Pat’s voice came up. “Don’t come down. I’m coming up.” These words filled Bart with a feeling of immense relief. He now heard Pat moving again, and at length saw him ascending. Nearer he came, and nearer. But Bart noticed that he did not have the pickaxe. He feared by this that it had been buried beneath the fallen logs. If so, their situation was as desperate as ever. But he said not a word.