"Take my word for it--you're alive so far, though how long you'll be
that way--or me, either--I can't say," said Jimmy. "What happened,
anyhow?"

To Iggy's relief Jimmy managed to scramble out of the pile of dirt
and stones that half buried him. And then, from another corner of what
seemed to be the cellar, a third voice said:

"They sent over a proper shell, that time." It was Franz.

"A _proper_ shell? Most _improper_, I call it!" came from Roger. "It
blew the mill to pieces!"

"And us along with it," added Bob. "Are we in the cellar?"

"Sub-cellar, basement--anything you like to call it!" put in Jimmy.
"But is it possible that none of us is seriously hurt?"

He walked over a pile of masonry and beams. He saw Bob crawling out
of a hole and Franz swinging himself down from what appeared to be a
ledge. Roger picked himself up from a corner. Only Iggy seemed to be
seriously hurt, but it was demonstrated, a few moments later, that
he was not. For he scrambled out, scattering the dust in a cloud, and
stood with his chums.

They were a sorry sight--covered with dust and streaks of blood, for
the wounds they had bound up had opened again, and they had many fresh
scratches and cuts.

"It's very evident what happened," declared Jimmy. "They must have