He stole up and peered through the engine-house window at the driver's clock, and saw with dull amazement that it was not yet half-past twelve.

It had taken him little over half an hour to reach Harry Hardy and return--it seemed to him that he had been toiling for many hours.

He crept in between the long stacks of firewood, made a bed on the soft bark, and waited.

The first night shift of the week did not start work till one o'clock on Monday morning, and the mine was silent save for the slow puffing of the pumping engine and the deliberate rumbling of the bob.
Lying on his stomach on the bark, the boy fixed his eyes upon the mine and suffered through the slow dragging minutes.

He wept incessantly, and his teeth chattered, although the night was warm.