The boy paused at nothing, reached the iron rungs with a bound, and started down the perpendicular ladder.

Down, down he went for many minutes, his candle feebly illuminating a blurred patch about his head.

Above, through a bewildering space of darkness, the grated opening at the surface shone like a faint star in another sphere; below was solid blackness; about him the slime of the dripping timbers sparkled in the candle's rays.

Down, down, down! The journey might have seemed interminable--a long pilgrimage into the earth's black distances--had the boy had a mind for it, but he thought nothing of the task; at length his feet struck the slabs over the well, and turning he flashed his light into the cavernous depth of a big drive.
He plunged into the drive without a pause, and now the way was familiar again.

Voyages of discovery made during crib time when he officiated as tool boy in the Silver Stream had often brought him up the jump-up into the Red Hand drive.