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And
it
was
very
cold
.
*
*
*
Peter
and
Phyllis
tramped
down
the
long
way
of
the
tunnel
towards
daylight
,
the
candle-grease
dripping
over
Peter
's
fingers
.
There
were
no
accidents
unless
you
count
Phyllis
's
catching
her
frock
on
a
wire
,
and
tearing
a
long
,
jagged
slit
in
it
,
and
tripping
over
her
bootlace
when
it
came
undone
,
or
going
down
on
her
hands
and
knees
,
all
four
of
which
were
grazed
.
"
There
's
no
end
to
this
tunnel
,
"
said
Phyllis
--
and
indeed
it
did
seem
very
very
long
.
"
Stick
to
it
,
"
said
Peter
;
"
everything
has
an
end
,
and
you
get
to
it
if
you
only
keep
all
on
.
"
Which
is
quite
true
,
if
you
come
to
think
of
it
,
and
a
useful
thing
to
remember
in
seasons
of
trouble
--
such
as
measles
,
arithmetic
,
impositions
,
and
those
times
when
you
are
in
disgrace
,
and
feel
as
though
no
one
would
ever
love
you
again
,
and
you
could
never
--
never
again
--
love
anybody
.
"
Hurray
,
"
said
Peter
,
suddenly
,
"
there
's
the
end
of
the
tunnel
--
looks
just
like
a
pin-hole
in
a
bit
of
black
paper
,
does
n't
it
?
"
The
pin-hole
got
larger
--
blue
lights
lay
along
the
sides
of
the
tunnel
.
The
children
could
see
the
gravel
way
that
lay
in
front
of
them
;
the
air
grew
warmer
and
sweeter
.
Another
twenty
steps
and
they
were
out
in
the
good
glad
sunshine
with
the
green
trees
on
both
sides
.
Phyllis
drew
a
long
breath
.
"
I
'll
never
go
into
a
tunnel
again
as
long
as
ever
I
live
,
"
said
she
,
"
not
if
there
are
twenty
hundred
thousand
millions
hounds
inside
with
red
jerseys
and
their
legs
broken
.
"
