So they made the journey. And if Dickie's head ached worse than ever, he didn't say anything, and if the blood from Mary's torn knee ran down into her sandal, and if the pain was really bad when Uncle put his weight on her shoulder, she did not cry either. At last, after many checks, they reached the cave and the welcome daylight.

"Now, young Dickie," said Uncle as he let himself down gently by the ladder, "I can't get up there, so you must. Keep a good look-out and call me if you see anyone. Have you got anything to eat, by the way? There's some chocolate in my pocket when you're hungry."

"Your hands are all bloody," Mary said suddenly.

"So they are," he said. "I'll have to clean up in a minute and you can fetch me some water from the pool over there. And what have you done to your knee, young lady?"

"Nothing," said Mary, "Just a scratch, thank you."

"What I want to know," said Dickie suddenly from half-way up the ladder, "is whether all hope has gone?"

"WHAT?" shouted Uncle.

"What I want to know is whether we're prisoners here for ever?" Dickie went on. "An' how long we've got to make our rations last... 'cos that's serious."

"What he means," said Mary soberly, "is whether you found a way out the other way or whether the roof has fallen in back there."

"Yes, it has," he said. "And you're grand kids to be so sensible about it. There's no way through back there, and I slipped and twisted this ankle trying to move the stones. And if it hadn't been for Mary refusing to come with me..."

"That's all right," said Dickie. "I always wanted to know what being buried alive was like, and this is it. It's not so bad as you might think, is it?"

Uncle laughed. "You get up there and keep a good lookout and Mary will help me for a bit."

So while Dickie climbed to the crow's-nest Mary took Uncle's scarf and dipped it in the icy water of the little pool over the entrance to the gallery. And while she was helping him bind the swollen ankle she said suddenly: