I AM so sorry." And it was very cold.
* * * * * * Peter and Phyllis tramped down the long way of the tunnel towards daylight, the candle-grease dripping over Peter's fingers.

There were no accidents unless you count Phyllis's catching her frock on a wire, and tearing a long, jagged slit in it, and tripping over her bootlace when it came undone, or going down on her hands and knees, all four of which were grazed.
"There's no end to this tunnel," said Phyllis--and indeed it did seem very very long.
"Stick to it," said Peter; "everything has an end, and you get to it if you only keep all on." Which is quite true, if you come to think of it, and a useful thing to remember in seasons of trouble--such as measles, arithmetic, impositions, and those times when you are in disgrace, and feel as though no one would ever love you again, and you could never--never again--love anybody.
"Hurray," said Peter, suddenly, "there's the end of the tunnel--looks just like a pin-hole in a bit of black paper, doesn't it ?" The pin-hole got larger--blue lights lay along the sides of the tunnel.
The children could see the gravel way that lay in front of them; the air grew warmer and sweeter.

Another twenty steps and they were out in the good glad sunshine with the green trees on both sides.
Phyllis drew a long breath.
"I'll never go into a tunnel again as long as ever I live," said she, "not if there are twenty hundred thousand millions hounds inside with red jerseys and their legs broken." "Don't be a silly cuckoo," said Peter, as usual.

"You'd HAVE to." "I think it was very brave and good of me," said Phyllis.
"Not it," said Peter; "you didn't go because you were brave, but because Bobbie and I aren't skunks.

Now where's the nearest house, I wonder?
You can't see anything here for the trees." "There's a roof over there," said Phyllis, pointing down the line.
"That's the signal-box," said Peter, "and you know you're not allowed to speak to signalmen on duty.