"You can have a candle a day," said a guard as he blew out the one
he carried, laying it, with a tinder-box, on a shelf in the wall of
rock beside me. Then they filed out, and the narrow door shut with
a loud bang. We peered through at the fading flicker of the
candles. They threw wavering, ghostly shadows on every wall of the
dark passage, and suddenly went out of sight. We both stood
listening a moment.

"Curse the luck!" I whispered presently.

"Jest as helpless es if we was hung up by the heels," said D'ri,
groping his way to the straw pile. "Ain' no use gittin' wrathy."

"What 'll we do?" I whispered.

"Dunno," said he; "an' when ye dunno whut t' dew, don' dew nuthin'.
Jest stan' still; thet's whut I b'lieve in."

He lighted the candle, and went about, pouring its glow upon every
wall and into every crack and corner of our cell--a small chamber
set firm in masonry, with a ceiling so far above our heads we could
see it but dimly, the candle lifted arm's-length.

"Judas Priest!" said D'ri, as he stopped the light with thumb and
finger. "I 'm goin' t' set here 'n th' straw luk an ol' hen 'n'
ile up m' thinker 'n' set 'er goin'. One o' them kind hes t' keep
'is mouth shet er he can't never dew ho thinkin'. Bymby, like es
not, I 'll hev suthin' t1 say et 'll 'mount t' suthin'."