a tree, and stepped aside into the bushes. A moment later he
reappeared with a small pick in his hand, climbed up over a mound
of loose rocks and loose earth, ten feet around the rock, and
entered the narrow mouth of a deep, freshly dug ditch. Ten feet
farther on he was halted by a tall black column solidly wedged in
the narrow passage, at the base of which was a bench of yellow
dirt extending not more than two feet from the foot of the column
and above the floor of the ditch. There had been mighty operations
going on in that secret passage; the toil for one boy and one tool
had been prodigious and his work was not yet quite done. Lifting
the pick above his head, the boy sank it into that yellow pedestal
with savage energy, raking the loose earth behind him with hands
and feet. The sunlight caught the top of the black column above
his head and dropped shining inch by inch, but on he worked
tirelessly. The yellow bench disappeared and the heap of dirt
behind him was piled high as his head, but the black column bored
on downward as though bound for the very bowels of the earth, and
only when the bench vanished to the level of the ditch's floor did
the lad send his pick deep into a new layer and lean back to rest
even for a moment. A few deep breaths, the brushing of one forearm
and then the other across his forehead and cheeks, and again he
grasped the tool. This time it came out hard, bringing out with
its point particles of grayish-black earth, and the boy gave a
low, shrill yell. It was a bed of clay that he had struck--the bed
on which, as the geologist had told him, the massive layers of
coal had slept so long. In a few minutes he had skimmed a yellow
inch or two more to the dingy floor of the clay bed, and had
driven his pick under the very edge of the black bulk towering
above him.