The Ploughboy 



One of our near neighbors, a stone mason 

 and miner by the name of William Duncan, 

 came to see me, and after hearing the particu- 

 lars of the accident he solemnly said: "Weel, 

 Johnnie, it's God's mercy that you're alive. 

 Many a companion of mine have I seen dead 

 with choke-damp, but none that I ever saw or 

 heard of was so near to death in it as you 

 were and escaped without help." Mr. Duncan 

 taught father to throw water down the shaft 

 to absorb the gas, and also to drop a bundle of 

 brush or hay attached to a light rope, dropping 

 it again and again to carry down pure air and 

 stir up the poison. When, after a day or two, 

 I had recovered from the shock, father lowered 

 me again to my work, after taking the precau- 

 tion to test the air with a candle and stir it up 

 well with a brush-and-hay bundle. The weary 

 hammer-and-chisel-chipping went on as before, 

 only more slowly, until ninety feet down, when 

 at last I struck a fine, hearty gush of water. 

 Constant dropping wears away stone. So does 

 constant chipping, while at the same time wear- 

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