Peters coal-mine.

What fun!” said Mother, in the dark, feeling for the matches on therntable. “How frightened the poor mice were--I don't believe they werernrats at all.”rnrnShe struck a match and relighted the candle and everyone looked at eachrnother by its winky, blinky light.rnrn“Well,” she said, “you've often wanted something to happen and now itrnhas. This is quite an adventure, isn't it? I told Mrs. Viney to get usrnsome bread and butter, and meat and things, and to have supper ready. Irnsuppose she's laid it in the dining-room. So let's go and see.”rnrnThe dining-room opened out of the kitchen. It looked much darker thanrnthe kitchen when they went in with the one candle. Because the kitchenrnwas whitewashed, but the dining-room was dark wood from floor tornceiling, and across the ceiling there were heavy black beams. There wasrna muddled maze of dusty furniture--the breakfast-room furniture fromrnthe old home where they had lived all their lives. It seemed a very longrntime ago, and a very long way off.rnrnThere was the table certainly, and there were chairs, but there was nornsupper.rnrn“Let's look in the other rooms,” said Mother; and they looked. And inrneach room was the same kind of blundering half-arrangement of furniture,rnand fire-irons and crockery, and all sorts of odd things on the floor,rnbut there was nothing to eat; even in the pantry there were only a rustyrncake-tin and a broken plate with whitening mixed in it.rnrn“What a horrid old woman!” said Mother; “she's just walked off with thernmoney and not got us anything to eat at all.”rnrn“Then shan't we have any supper at all?” asked Phyllis, dismayed,rnstepping back on to a soap-dish that cracked responsively.rnrn“Oh, yes,” said Mother, “only it'll mean unpacking one of those bigrncases that we put in the cellar. Phil, do mind where you're walking to,rnthere's a dear. Peter, hold the light.”rnrnThe cellar door opened out of the kitchen. There were five wooden stepsrnleading down. It wasn't a proper cellar at all, the children thought,rnbecause its ceiling went up as high as the kitchen's. A bacon-rack hungrnunder its ceiling. There was wood in it, and coal. Also the big cases.rnrnPeter held the candle, all on one side, while Mother tried to open therngreat packing-case. It was very securely nailed down.rnrn“Where's the hammer?” asked Peter.rnrn“That's just it,” said Mother. “I'm afraid it's inside the box. Butrnthere's a coal-shovel--and there's the kitchen poker.”rnrnAnd with these she tried to get the case open.rnrn“Let me do it,” said Peter, thinking he could do it better himself.rnEveryone thinks this when he sees another person stirring a fire, orrnopening a box, or untying a knot in a bit of string.rnrn“You'll hurt your hands, Mammy,” said Roberta; “let me.”rnrn“I wish Father was here,” said Phyllis; “he'd get it open in two shakes.rnWhat are you kicking me for, Bobbie?”rnrn“I wasn't,” said Roberta.rnrnJust then the first of the long nails in the packing-case began to comernout with a scrunch. Then a lath was raised and then another, till allrnfour stood up with the long nails in them shining fiercely like ironrnteeth in the candle-light.rnrn“Hooray!” said Mother; “here are some candles--the very first thing! Yourngirls go and light them. You'll find some saucers and things. Just droprna little candle-grease in the saucer and stick the candle upright inrnit.”rnrn“How many shall we light?”rnrn“As many as ever you like,” said Mother, gaily. “The great thing isrnto be cheerful. Nobody can be cheerful in the dark except owls andrndormice.”rnrnSo the girls lighted candles. The head of the first match flew off andrnstuck to Phyllis's finger; but, as Roberta said, it was only a littlernburn, and she might have had to be a Roman martyr and be burned whole ifrnshe had happened to live in the days when those things were fashionable.rnrnThen, when the dining-room was lighted by fourteen candles, Robertarnfetched coal and wood and lighted a fire.rnrn“It's very cold for May,” she said, feeling what a grown-up thing it wasrnto say.rnrnThe fire-light and the candle-light made the dining-room look veryrndifferent, for now you could see that the dark walls were of wood,rncarved here and there into little wreaths and loops.rnrnThe girls hastily 'tidied' the room, which meant putting the chairsrnagainst the wall, and piling all the odds and ends into a corner andrnpartly hiding them with the big leather arm-chair that Father used tornsit in after dinner.rnrn“Bravo!” cried Mother, coming in with a tray full of things. “This isrnsomething like! I'll just get a tablecloth and then--”rnrnThe tablecloth was in a box with a proper lock that was opened with arnkey and not with a shovel, and when the cloth was spread on the table, arnreal feast was laid out on it.rnrnEveryone was very, very tired, but everyone cheered up at the sight ofrnthe funny and delightful supper. There were biscuits, the Marie and thernplain kind, sardines, preserved ginger, cooking raisins, and candiedrnpeel and marmalade.rnrn“What a good thing Aunt Emma packed up all the odds and ends out of thernStore cupboard,” said Mother. “Now, Phil, DON'T put the marmalade spoonrnin among the sardines.”rnrn“No, I won't, Mother,” said Phyllis, and put it down among the Mariernbiscuits.rnrn“Let's drink Aunt Emma's health,” said Roberta, suddenly; “what shouldrnwe have done if she hadn't packed up these things? Here's to Aunt Emma!”rnrnAnd the toast was drunk in ginger wine and water, out ofrnwillow-patterned tea-cups, because the glasses couldn't be found.rnrnThey all felt that they had been a little hard on Aunt Emma. She wasn'trna nice cuddly person like Mother, but after all it was she who hadrnthought of packing up the odds and ends of things to eat.rnrnIt was Aunt Emma, too, who had aired all the sheets ready; and the menrnwho had moved the furniture had put the bedsteads together, so the bedsrnwere soon made.rnrn“Good night, chickies,” said Mother. “I'm sure there aren't any rats.rnBut I'll leave my door open, and then if a mouse comes, you need onlyrnscream, and I'll come and tell it exactly what I think of it.”rnrnThen she went to her own room. Roberta woke to hear the littlerntravelling clock chime two. It sounded like a church clock ever so farrnaway, she always thought. And she heard, too, Mother still moving aboutrnin her room.rnrnNext morning Roberta woke Phyllis by pulling her hair gently, but quiternenough for her purpose.rnrn“Wassermarrer?” asked Phyllis, still almost wholly asleep.rnrn“Wake up! wake up!” said Roberta. “We're in the new house--don't yournremember? No servants or anything. Let's get up and begin to be useful.rnWe'll just creep down mouse-quietly, and have everything beautifulrnbefore Mother gets up. I've woke Peter. He'll be dressed as soon as wernare.”rnrnSo they dressed quietly and quickly. Of course, there was no water inrntheir room, so when they got down they washed as much as they thoughtrnwas necessary under the spout of the pump in the yard. One pumped andrnthe other washed. It was splashy but interesting.rnrn“It's much more fun than basin washing,” said Roberta. “How sparklyrnthe weeds are between the stones, and the moss on the roof--oh, and thernflowers!”rnrnThe roof of the back kitchen sloped down quite low. It was madernof thatch and it had moss on it, and house-leeks and stonecrop andrnwallflowers, and even a clump of purple flag-flowers, at the far corner.rnrn“This is far, far, far and away prettier than Edgecombe Villa,” saidrnPhyllis. “I wonder what the garden's like.”rnrn“We mustn't think of the garden yet,” said Roberta, with earnest energy.“Let's go in and begin to work.”rnrnThey lighted the fire and put the kettle on, and they arranged therncrockery for breakfast; they could not find all the right things, butrna glass ash-tray made an excellent salt-cellar, and a newish baking-tinrnseemed as if it would do to put bread on, if they had any.rnrnWhen there seemed to be nothing more that they could do, they went outrnagain into the fresh bright morning.rnrn“We'll go into the garden now,” said Peter. But somehow they couldn'trnfind the garden. They went round the house and round the house. The yardrnoccupied the back, and across it were stables and outbuildings. On thernother three sides the house stood simply in a field, without a yardrnof garden to divide it from the short smooth turf. And yet they hadrncertainly seen the garden wall the night before.rnrnIt was a hilly country. Down below they could see the line of thernrailway, and the black yawning mouth of a tunnel. The station was out ofrnsight. There was a great bridge with tall arches running across one endrnof the valley.rnrn“Never mind the garden,” said Peter; “let's go down and look at thernrailway. There might be trains passing.”rnrn“We can see them from here,” said Roberta, slowly; “let's sit down arnbit.”rnrnSo they all sat down on a great flat grey stone that had pushed itselfrnup out of the grass; it was one of many that lay about on the hillside,rnand when Mother came out to look for them at eight o'clock, she foundrnthem deeply asleep in a contented, sun-warmed bunch.rnrnThey had made an excellent fire, and had set the kettle on it at aboutrnhalf-past five. So that by eight the fire had been out for some time,rnthe water had all boiled away, and the bottom was burned out of thernkettle. Also they had not thought of washing the crockery before theyrnset the table.rnrn“But it doesn't matter--the cups and saucers, I mean,” said Mother.“Because I've found another room--I'd quite forgotten there was one. Andrnit's magic! And I've boiled the water for tea in a saucepan.”rnrnThe forgotten room opened out of the kitchen. In the agitation and halfrndarkness the night before its door had been mistaken for a cupboard's.rnIt was a little square room, and on its table, all nicely set out, was arnjoint of cold roast beef, with bread, butter, cheese, and a pie.rnrn“Pie for breakfast!” cried Peter; “how perfectly ripping!”rnrn“It isn't pigeon-pie,” said Mother; “it's only apple. Well, this is thernsupper we ought to have had last night. And there was a note from Mrs.rnViney. Her son-in-law has broken his arm, and she had to get home early.rnShe's coming this morning at ten.”rnrnThat was a wonderful breakfast. It is unusual to begin the day withrncold apple pie, but the children all said they would rather have it thanrnmeat.rnrn“You see it's more like dinner than breakfast to us,” said Peter,rnpassing his plate for more, “because we were up so early.”rnrnThe day passed in helping Mother to unpack and arrange things. Six smallrnlegs quite ached with running about while their owners carried clothesrnand crockery and all sorts of things to their proper places. It was notrntill quite late in the afternoon that Mother said:--rnrn“There! That'll do for to-day. I'll lie down for an hour, so as to be asrnfresh as a lark by supper-time.”rnrnThen they all looked at each other. Each of the three expressiverncountenances expressed the same thought. That thought was double,rnand consisted, like the bits of information in the Child's Guide tornKnowledge, of a question and an answer.rnrnQ. Where shall we go?rnrnA. To the railway.rnrnSo to the railway they went, and as soon as they started for the railwayrnthey saw where the garden had hidden itself. It was right behind thernstables, and it had a high wall all round.rnrn“Oh, never mind about the garden now!” cried Peter. “Mother told mernthis morning where it was. It'll keep till to-morrow. Let's get to thernrailway.”rnrnThe way to the railway was all down hill over smooth, short turf withrnhere and there furze bushes and grey and yellow rocks sticking out likerncandied peel from the top of a cake.rnrnThe way ended in a steep run and a wooden fence--and there was thernrailway with the shining metals and the telegraph wires and posts andrnsignals.rnrnThey all climbed on to the top of the fence, and then suddenly there wasrna rumbling sound that made them look along the line to the right, wherernthe dark mouth of a tunnel opened itself in the face of a rocky cliff;rnnext moment a train had rushed out of the tunnel with a shriek andrna snort, and had slid noisily past them. They felt the rush of itsrnpassing, and the pebbles on the line jumped and rattled under it as itrnwent by.rnrn“Oh!” said Roberta, drawing a long breath; “it was like a great dragonrntearing by. Did you feel it fan us with its hot wings?”rnrn“I suppose a dragon's lair might look very like that tunnel from thernoutside,” said Phyllis.rnrnBut Peter said:--rnrn“I never thought we should ever get as near to a train as this. It's thernmost ripping sport!”rnrn“Better than toy-engines, isn't it?” said Roberta.rnrn(I am tired of calling Roberta by her name. I don't see why I should.rnNo one else did. Everyone else called her Bobbie, and I don't see why Irnshouldn't.)rnrn“I don't know; it's different,” said Peter. “It seems so odd to see ALLrnof a train. It's awfully tall, isn't it?”rnrn“We've always seen them cut in half by platforms,” said Phyllis.rnrn“I wonder if that train was going to London,” Bobbie said. “London'srnwhere Father is.”rnrn“Let's go down to the station and find out,” said Peter.rnrnSo they went.rnrnThey walked along the edge of the line, and heard the telegraph wiresrnhumming over their heads. When you are in the train, it seems such arnlittle way between post and post, and one after another the posts seemrnto catch up the wires almost more quickly than you can count them. Butrnwhen you have to walk, the posts seem few and far between.rnrnBut the children got to the station at last.rnrnNever before had any of them been at a station, except for the purposernof catching trains--or perhaps waiting for them--and always withrngrown-ups in attendance, grown-ups who were not themselves interested inrnstations, except as places from which they wished to get away.rnrnNever before had they passed close enough to a signal-box to be able tornnotice the wires, and to hear the mysterious 'ping, ping,' followed byrnthe strong, firm clicking of machinery.rnrnThe very sleepers on which the rails lay were a delightful path torntravel by--just far enough apart to serve as the stepping-stones in arngame of foaming torrents hastily organised by Bobbie.rnrnThen to arrive at the station, not through the booking office, but inrna freebooting sort of way by the sloping end of the platform. This inrnitself was joy.rnrnJoy, too, it was to peep into the porters' room, where the lamps are,rnand the Railway almanac on the wall, and one porter half asleep behind arnpaper.rnrnThere were a great many crossing lines at the station; some of them justrnran into a yard and stopped short, as though they were tired of businessrnand meant to retire for good. Trucks stood on the rails here, and on onernside was a great heap of coal--not a loose heap, such as you see in yourrncoal cellar, but a sort of solid building of coals with large squarernblocks of coal outside used just as though they were bricks, and builtrnup till the heap looked like the picture of the Cities of the Plain inrn'Bible Stories for Infants.' There was a line of whitewash near the toprnof the coaly wall.rnrnWhen presently the Porter lounged out of his room at the twice-repeatedrntingling thrill of a gong over the station door, Peter said, “How do yourndo?” in his best manner, and hastened to ask what the white mark was onrnthe coal for.rnrn“To mark how much coal there be,” said the Porter, “so as we'll know ifrnanyone nicks it. So don't you go off with none in your pockets, youngrngentleman!”rnrnThis seemed, at the time but a merry jest, and Peter felt at once thatrnthe Porter was a friendly sort with no nonsense about him. But later thernwords came back to Peter with a new meaning.rnrnHave you ever gone into a farmhouse kitchen on a baking day, and seenrnthe great crock of dough set by the fire to rise? If you have, and ifrnyou were at that time still young enough to be interested in everythingrnyou saw, you will remember that you found yourself quite unable tornresist the temptation to poke your finger into the soft round of doughrnthat curved inside the pan like a giant mushroom. And you will rememberrnthat your finger made a dent in the dough, and that slowly, but quiternsurely, the dent disappeared, and the dough looked quite the same as itrndid before you touched it. Unless, of course, your hand was extra dirty,rnin which case, naturally, there would be a little black mark.rnrnWell, it was just like that with the sorrow the children had felt atrnFather's going away, and at Mother's being so unhappy. It made a deeprnimpression, but the impression did not last long.rnrnThey soon got used to being without Father, though they did not forgetrnhim; and they got used to not going to school, and to seeing very littlernof Mother, who was now almost all day shut up in her upstairs roomrnwriting, writing, writing. She used to come down at tea-time and readrnaloud the stories she had written. They were lovely stories.rnrnThe rocks and hills and valleys and trees, the canal, and above all, thernrailway, were so new and so perfectly pleasing that the remembrance ofrnthe old life in the villa grew to seem almost like a dream.rnrnMother had told them more than once that they were 'quite poor now,' butrnthis did not seem to be anything but a way of speaking. Grown-up people,rneven Mothers, often make remarks that don't seem to mean anything inrnparticular, just for the sake of saying something, seemingly. There wasrnalways enough to eat, and they wore the same kind of nice clothes theyrnhad always worn.rnrnBut in June came three wet days; the rain came down, straight as lances,rnand it was very, very cold. Nobody could go out, and everybody shivered.rnThey all went up to the door of Mother's room and knocked.rnrn“Well, what is it?” asked Mother from inside.rnrn“Mother,” said Bobbie, “mayn't I light a fire? I do know how.”rnrnAnd Mother said: “No, my ducky-love. We mustn't have fires in June--coalrnis so dear. If you're cold, go and have a good romp in the attic.rnThat'll warm you.”rnrn“But, Mother, it only takes such a very little coal to make a fire.”rnrn“It's more than we can afford, chickeny-love,” said Mother, cheerfully.“Now run away, there's darlings--I'm madly busy!”rnrn“Mother's always busy now,” said Phyllis, in a whisper to Peter. Peterrndid not answer. He shrugged his shoulders. He was thinking.rnrnThought, however, could not long keep itself from the suitablernfurnishing of a bandit's lair in the attic. Peter was the bandit, ofrncourse. Bobbie was his lieutenant, his band of trusty robbers, and, inrndue course, the parent of Phyllis, who was the captured maiden for whomrna magnificent ransom--in horse-beans--was unhesitatingly paid.rnrnThey all went down to tea flushed and joyous as any mountain brigands.rnrnBut when Phyllis was going to add jam to her bread and butter, Motherrnsaid:--rnrn“Jam OR butter, dear--not jam AND butter. We can't afford that sort ofrnreckless luxury nowadays.”rnrnPhyllis finished the slice of bread and butter in silence, and followedrnit up by bread and jam. Peter mingled thought and weak tea.rnrnAfter tea they went back to the attic and he said to his sisters:--rnrn“I have an idea.”rnrn“What's that?” they asked politely.rnrn“I shan't tell you,” was Peter's unexpected rejoinder.rnrn“Oh, very well,” said Bobbie; and Phil said, “Don't, then.”rnrn“Girls,” said Peter, “are always so hasty tempered.”rnrn“I should like to know what boys are?” said Bobbie, with fine disdain.“I don't want to know about your silly ideas.”rnrn“You'll know some day,” said Peter, keeping his own temper by whatrnlooked exactly like a miracle; “if you hadn't been so keen on a row, Irnmight have told you about it being only noble-heartedness that made mernnot tell you my idea. But now I shan't tell you anything at all aboutrnit--so there!”rnrnAnd it was, indeed, some time before he could be induced to sayrnanything, and when he did it wasn't much. He said:--rnrn“The only reason why I won't tell you my idea that I'm going to do isrnbecause it MAY be wrong, and I don't want to drag you into it.”rnrn“Don't you do it if it's wrong, Peter,” said Bobbie; “let me do it.” ButrnPhyllis said:--rnrn“_I_ should like to do wrong if YOU'RE going to!”rnrn“No,” said Peter, rather touched by this devotion; “it's a forlorn hope,rnand I'm going to lead it. All I ask is that if Mother asks where I am,rnyou won't blab.”rnrn“We haven't got anything TO blab,” said Bobbie, indignantly.rnrn“Oh, yes, you have!” said Peter, dropping horse-beans through hisrnfingers. “I've trusted you to the death. You know I'm going to do a lonernadventure--and some people might think it wrong--I don't. And if Motherrnasks where I am, say I'm playing at mines.”rnrn“What sort of mines?”rnrn“You just say mines.”rnrn“You might tell US, Pete.”rnrn“Well, then, COAL-mines. But don't you let the word pass your lips onrnpain of torture.”rnrn“You needn't threaten,” said Bobbie, “and I do think you might let usrnhelp.”rnrn“If I find a coal-mine, you shall help cart the coal,” Peterrncondescended to promise.rnrn“Keep your secret if you like,” said Phyllis.rnrn“Keep it if you CAN,” said Bobbie.rnrn“I'll keep it, right enough,” said Peter.rnrnBetween tea and supper there is an interval even in the most greedilyrnregulated families. At this time Mother was usually writing, and Mrs.rnViney had gone home.rnrnTwo nights after the dawning of Peter's idea he beckoned the girlsrnmysteriously at the twilight hour.rnrn“Come hither with me,” he said, “and bring the Roman Chariot.”rnrnThe Roman Chariot was a very old perambulator that had spent years ofrnretirement in the loft over the coach-house. The children had oiled itsrnworks till it glided noiseless as a pneumatic bicycle, and answered tornthe helm as it had probably done in its best days.rnrn“Follow your dauntless leader,” said Peter, and led the way down thernhill towards the station.rnrnJust above the station many rocks have pushed their heads out throughrnthe turf as though they, like the children, were interested in thernrailway.rnrnIn a little hollow between three rocks lay a heap of dried brambles andrnheather.rnrnPeter halted, turned over the brushwood with a well-scarred boot, andrnsaid:--rnrn“Here's the first coal from the St. Peter's Mine. We'll take it home inrnthe chariot. Punctuality and despatch. All orders carefully attended to.rnAny shaped lump cut to suit regular customers.”rnrnThe chariot was packed full of coal. And when it was packed it had tornbe unpacked again because it was so heavy that it couldn't be got up thernhill by the three children, not even when Peter harnessed himself to thernhandle with his braces, and firmly grasping his waistband in one handrnpulled while the girls pushed behind.rnrnThree journeys had to be made before the coal from Peter's mine wasrnadded to the heap of Mother's coal in the cellar.rnrnAfterwards Peter went out alone, and came back very black andrnmysterious.rnrn“I've been to my coal-mine,” he said; “to-morrow evening we'll bringrnhome the black diamonds in the chariot.”rnrnIt was a week later that Mrs. Viney remarked to Mother how well thisrnlast lot of coal was holding out.rnrnThe children hugged themselves and each other in complicated wriggles ofrnsilent laughter as they listened on the stairs. They had all forgottenrnby now that there had ever been any doubt in Peter's mind as to whetherrncoal-mining was wrong.rnrnBut there came a dreadful night when the Station Master put on a pairrnof old sand shoes that he had worn at the seaside in his summer holiday,rnand crept out very quietly to the yard where the Sodom and Gomorrah heaprnof coal was, with the whitewashed line round it. He crept out there, andrnhe waited like a cat by a mousehole. On the top of the heap somethingrnsmall and dark was scrabbling and rattling furtively among the coal.rnrnThe Station Master concealed himself in the shadow of a brake-van thatrnhad a little tin chimney and was labelled:--rnrn G. N. and S. R. 34576rn Return at once torn White Heather Sidingsrnrnand in this concealment he lurked till the small thing on the top ofrnthe heap ceased to scrabble and rattle, came to the edge of the heap,rncautiously let itself down, and lifted something after it. Then the armrnof the Station Master was raised, the hand of the Station Master fellrnon a collar, and there was Peter firmly held by the jacket, with an oldrncarpenter's bag full of coal in his trembling clutch.rnrn“So I've caught you at last, have I, you young thief?” said the StationrnMaster.rnrn“I'm not a thief,” said Peter, as firmly as he could. “I'm arncoal-miner.”rnrn“Tell that to the Marines,” said the Station Master.rnrn“It would be just as true whoever I told it to,” said Peter.rnrn“You're right there,” said the man, who held him. “Stow your jaw, yournyoung rip, and come along to the station.”rnrn“Oh, no,” cried in the darkness an agonised voice that was not Peter's.rnrn“Not the POLICE station!” said another voice from the darkness.rnrn“Not yet,” said the Station Master. “The Railway Station first. Why,rnit's a regular gang. Any more of you?”rnrn“Only us,” said Bobbie and Phyllis, coming out of the shadow of anotherrntruck labelled Staveley Colliery, and bearing on it the legend in whiternchalk: 'Wanted in No. 1 Road.'rnrn“What do you mean by spying on a fellow like this?” said Peter, angrily.rnrn“Time someone did spy on you, _I_ think,” said the Station Master. “Comernalong to the station.”rnrn“Oh, DON'T!” said Bobbie. “Can't you decide NOW what you'll do to us?rnIt's our fault just as much as Peter's. We helped to carry the coalrnaway--and we knew where he got it.”rnrn“No, you didn't,” said Peter.rnrn“Yes, we did,” said Bobbie. “We knew all the time. We only pretended werndidn't just to humour you.”rnrnPeter's cup was full. He had mined for coal, he had struck coal, he hadrnbeen caught, and now he learned that his sisters had 'humoured' him.rnrn“Don't hold me!” he said. “I won't run away.”rnrnThe Station Master loosed Peter's collar, struck a match and looked atrnthem by its flickering light.rnrn“Why,” said he, “you're the children from the Three Chimneys up yonder.rnSo nicely dressed, too. Tell me now, what made you do such a thing?rnHaven't you ever been to church or learned your catechism or anything,rnnot to know it's wicked to steal?” He spoke much more gently now, andrnPeter said:--rnrn“I didn't think it was stealing. I was almost sure it wasn't. I thoughtrnif I took it from the outside part of the heap, perhaps it would be. Butrnin the middle I thought I could fairly count it only mining. It'llrntake thousands of years for you to burn up all that coal and get to thernmiddle parts.”rnrn“Not quite. But did you do it for a lark or what?”rnrn“Not much lark carting that beastly heavy stuff up the hill,” saidrnPeter, indignantly.rnrn“Then why did you?” The Station Master's voice was so much kinder nowrnthat Peter replied:--rnrn“You know that wet day? Well, Mother said we were too poor to have arnfire. We always had fires when it was cold at our other house, and--”rnrn“DON'T!” interrupted Bobbie, in a whisper.rnrn“Well,” said the Station Master, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, “I'llrntell you what I'll do. I'll look over it this once. But you remember,rnyoung gentleman, stealing is stealing, and what's mine isn't yours,rnwhether you call it mining or whether you don't. Run along home.”rnrn“Do you mean you aren't going to do anything to us? Well, you are arnbrick,” said Peter, with enthusiasm.rnrn“You're a dear,” said Bobbie.rnrn“You're a darling,” said Phyllis.rnrn“That's all right,” said the Station Master.rnrnAnd on this they parted.rnrn“Don't speak to me,” said Peter, as the three went up the hill. “You'rernspies and traitors--that's what you are.”rnrnBut the girls were too glad to have Peter between them, safe and free,rnand on the way to Three Chimneys and not to the Police Station, to mindrnmuch what he said.rnrn“We DID say it was us as much as you,” said Bobbie, gently.rnrn“Well--and it wasn't.”rnrn“It would have come to the same thing in Courts with judges,” saidrnPhyllis. “Don't be snarky, Peter. It isn't our fault your secrets are sornjolly easy to find out.” She took his arm, and he let her.rnrn“There's an awful lot of coal in the cellar, anyhow,” he went on.rnrn“Oh, don't!” said Bobbie. “I don't think we ought to be glad aboutrnTHAT.”rnrn“I don't know,” said Peter, plucking up a spirit. “I'm not at all sure,rneven now, that mining is a crime.”rnrnBut the girls were quite sure. And they were also quite sure that he wasrnquite sure, however little he cared to own it.