A very holy ground.”
“That’s what Captain Corbet would call a ‘hime,’” said Phil, with a
laugh. “It’s too solemn, Bart, for this occasion. We want something
business-like now.”
“Then here goes,” said Bart, who had a happy talent for improvising.
And he droned out the following, in a whining voice, but to a livelier
measure:--
“Over Minas’s Bay
Came the French to Grand Pré,
And they all were remarkable fellers;
They lived upon frogs,
And they wore wooden clogs,
And preserved their potatoes in cellars.”
“There,” said Arthur, “that’s enough, Bart. If we don’t stop you now,
you’ll go on till sundown. If we’re going to dig, we’d better begin, for
it’s getting late, and it’ll be dark before we know it.”
“All right, my son,” said Bart. “Here goes--come along.”
And seizing his spade, he rushed down into the cellar; and plunging it
deep into the earth, he began to throw it out.
“Hurrah, Bart!” cried Bruce. “Dig away, old man! You’ll turn up the
whole cellar, at that rate, before we can get down. Leave something for
us, though, just for the name of the thing, you know.”
“Come along,” cried Bart, throwing out his seventh shovelful.
By this time they were all at the hole, and plunged in their spades. Out
flew the earth. In their zealous work the shovels clashed against one
another furiously, and rather impeded their progress; but in spite of
this, the earth was thrown out with a rapidity that contrasted in a
very striking manner with the slowness of their progress on that former
occasion. Then, the earth was rigid, and hard bound with the turf
that had been accumulating for generations, and Bruce’s pickaxe had to
prepare the-way for the slow entrance of their spades. But now, their
spades went in easily, and the pickaxe as yet was not needed.
But the work of digging was an unusual one, and their violent efforts
exhausted them before they had worked for a long time. They paused for a
moment and rested.
“We’re almost at the bottom,” said Bart.
“That depends on what you mean by the bottom,” said Arthur.
“Well, I mean, we’re almost as far down as we were before.”
“But I wonder whether we shall strike that metallic substance that we
struck before,” said Arthur.
“I’ll soon see,” said Bruce.
Saying this, he took the pickaxe, and giving it a swing, brought it down
into the centre of the hole.
It penetrated a short distance, and then stopped short, with a low, dull
sound, as though it had struck something hard.
That sound roused the boys once more, and stimulated them to fresh
exertions. They again plunged their spades into the earth. All their
first energy was now restored. They forgot their fatigue. Something was
there, they knew. What it was they could not tell; but they knew that it
must be the same thing that had excited them once before, and from which
they had been driven by the sudden bray of that absurd donkey. Now, all
that nonsense had been explained; and they knew that this last vestige
of the mystery of that midnight hour lay beneath them, and would soon be
exhumed and brought to the light of day.
Lower and lower they went.
And now their shovels struck it at every stroke. It seemed metallic. The
dull ringing sound given forth could not come from wood, or brick, or
stone. It must be metal!
But what?
Was it a pot, or an iron chest?
Pooh!
At any rate they were glad that the other fellow’s were not present. .
Such thoughts and feelings passed through their minds as they came down
nearer to the object of their search.