bliss!—came the sound of a man's whistle.

"Ph'ut! Phee-ee—uht! Darn that fool of a dog! Ph'w—"

"For the Lord's sake!" called Tilda, pushing the boy up the coal-shute ahead of her and panting painfully as her feet sank and slid in the black pile.

"Eh? . . . Hullo!" A man's face peered down, shutting off the daylight.
"Well, in all my born days—"

He reached down a hand.

"The boy first," gasped Tilda, "—and quick!"