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began to whistle softly to himself to keep up his courage. A shadowy shape came up beside him.
    â€œIs that you, Wee Willie?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œI heard you was goin’ down. I heard your father was hurt bad.”
    â€œYes, he was hurt. John, too.”
    Willie recognized the voice of an older boy, Simon Ross, who had been in his class at school. Simon was a bully. Willie had been afraid of him. He was glad when Simon had left school to work in the mine.
    Now, in the dark and the loneliness he sounded different, almost friendly.
    â€œIf I’d known you was goin’ down I would’ve called for you. Are you sure you’ll get a job?”
    â€œYes. The doctor spoke for me. I’ll be a trapper.”
    â€œOh. That’s what I am, a trapper. You know how to do the work, Willie? You know what a trapper boy does?”
    â€œYes. He opens and shuts a door to let horses and people go through.”
    â€œWell, them doors are called traps because they trap air,” said Simon, importantly. “They’re part of the ventilation system in the mine. Good air has to be pumped in all the time and bad air has to be pumped out. It’s a ’portant job, Willie, bein’ a trapper. If you leave one of them traps open, poison gas could collect. A lot of men could die. You could die, too, Willie.”
    Simon hadn’t changed much, after all. He was still trying to scare.
    â€œYeah, I know all about that, Si,” said Willie.
    â€œYou have to trap all alone, Willie. It’s black dark down there. It’s a ’portant job, Willie. Every man’s life depends on the life of another in the pits. If the pipe fitters don’t fit the pipes right, the mines could be flooded with water. You could drown, Willie. If the pit-prop men don’t brace up the ceiling right, you could get killed by a rock fall.”
    Willie smiled to himself in the dark. Simon had been a stupid boy in school and often had to wear a dunce cap. Behind his back, the kids called him “Simple Simon.” But he tormented little kids. He called Willie “teacher’s pet” just because Willie always knew his lessons and was at the head of his class. Now Simon wanted to show off how much he had learned about coal mining.
    As they neared the pithead, the noise of locomotives which carried the coal to Louisbourg became deafening. Whistles shrieked, bells clanged, cars shunted, wheels rattled, jets of escaping steam hissed, and men shouted. All this noisy action was dimly lit by lanterns hung on posts. The polluted air stung Willie’s nose and eyes.
    It was a relief to step inside the lamp house. Here, men exchanged their metal tags for the “clanny lamps” which would be their only light once they were underground. Dozens of men were milling about. The big room was filled with the hum of their loud conversations. Willie felt dazed and bewildered.
    Simon took him by the shoulder. “Come on. We’ll find One-Arm Joe. He’ll give you a tag and lamp.”
    Simon was full of confidence. He was eager to show Willie around.
    â€œThat tag is very ’portant. It’s got your number on it, see? When it’s on the hook here, it tells the manager you’re down in the mine.”
    â€œYes,” said Willie. “That’s in case of an explosion or a fire or a cave-in.”
    â€œYeah. When you get back from work, you give Joe your lantern and he’ll give you your tag. Tomorrow, you trade again.”
    It was time to go. The boys walked together down a slope until they came to the deputy’s cabin, a small underground building. Here, each miner was told if his workplace was safe on that day. It had to be free from a dangerous level of firedamp, the poisonous and explosive gas which seeped out from the displaced coal.
    An overseer checked daily to see if it was safe. Sometimes, he took a live canary in a cage. If the bird got sick and toppled from its