It was about a week after this that the children one day persuaded Miss
Grey to go home across Rumborough Common after a walk. She never liked
to do so, because it was a lonely, desolate place frequented by gypsies
and tramps, but the boys had a special reason for wishing it. There
were the remains of what was called a Roman camp there, which, they felt
sure, was full of strange and curious things--coins, medals, bones,
beads, all manner of desirable objects to add to their collection for
the museum. They had never been lucky enough to find any, but hope did
not forsake them, and as often as they could persuade Miss Grey to cross
the common, they lingered behind the others as much as they possibly
could and kept an eager look-out.
Unfortunately, Miss Grey never walked so fast as in that particular
spot, and was always urging them to quicken their pace, so that it was
possible to miss many valuable curiosities. Otherwise, with time before
them, and the aid of a spade and a pickaxe, Ambrose and David felt that
they could have unearthed treasures which would have filled their museum
easily. To-day they were so far behind that Miss Grey and their sisters
were almost out of sight. Ambrose had been giving David a little solid
information about the Romans, their wars, customs, and personal
appearance, when he was suddenly interrupted by his brother.
"I suppose," said David, "you forgot the museum when you told Pennie
you'd give your money every week?"
Ambrose did not want to be reminded of that promise, which he had
already begun to regret; besides, this question showed that David had
not been attending to the Romans.
"Why, of course," he said impatiently; "we sha'n't buy things for the
museum. We shall just find them by degrees."
"I don't believe we shall ever get enough things before the winter,"
replied David, with his eyes fixed on the short dry turf at his feet.
"Oh, look!" he exclaimed suddenly, "there's a funny snail."
Ambrose stooped to examine it. It was an empty white shell with curious
black stripes on it.
"It's a Roman snail," he said rising with a superior air. "You know
they used to eat them."
David stood with his short legs wide apart, his hands in his pockets,
his grave eyes fixed on the shell in his brother's hand.
"Did the Romans bring it?" he asked. "How very old it must be!"
"How stupid you are!" said Ambrose. "Of course I meant they brought
some like it, and then there got to be more and more snails--like Sir
Walter Raleigh and the potato."
"It'll do nicely for the museum, won't it?" said David, "and we'll write
a label for it with `_Roman snail, found near Rumborough Camp_.'" By
this time it was no longer possible to avoid seeing that Miss Grey was
waving her parasol in the far distance. Probably one of the girls would
be sent back to fetch them if they did not go at once, so with the snail
carefully secured they set off towards her at a quick trot.
"Don't you wish," jerked out Ambrose in short sentences as he ran, "that
father would bring us--with a spade--and dig--and find things?"
"It would be splendid," gasped David. "Do you think he would?"
"I say," called out Ambrose, without replying to this, as they got near
to the others, "guess what we've found."
"A skull," said Nancy at once, mentioning the thing which the boys
wanted most for their museum.
"How could it be a skull, silly?" said Ambrose scornfully, "when I'm
holding it inside my hand?"
More guesses followed, but in vain, and at last the Roman snail was
displayed to the wondering gaze of Pennie and Nancy. Not that they had
any part or lot in matters concerning the museum. That belonged to the
boys alone, and was jealously guarded as their very own. Ever since
Ambrose had been with his father to the museum at Nearminster he and
David had made up their minds to have one, and had begun with great
fervour to collect objects for it. Other interests, however, had come
in the way, and the museum languished until one day Mrs Hawthorne had
offered them a tiny empty room at the top of the house for their own.
It was not much bigger than a cupboard, and had a very sloping roof, but
to the boys it seemed a palace.
What a place for the museum! They at once set to work to put up
shelves, to write labels, and to give it as much as possible the
appearance of the one at Nearminster. Ambrose hit upon an idea which
added a good deal to this. He printed the words "_To the Museum_" on
some cards, with an arrow to point the way, and when these were pasted
on the staircase wall they had a capital effect. But though it began to
have quite a business-like air, the museum was still woefully empty.
Even when spread out to their widest extent, it was impossible to make
three fossils, a few birds' eggs, and one dried snake's skin look
otherwise than meagre even in a small room. The boys arranged these
over and over again in different positions, and wrote very large labels
for them, but they were disturbed by the consciousness that it was not
an interesting collection, and that it must be increased before the 1st
of November. This would be their mother's birthday, and they then
intended to invite her to see the museum and to declare it open.
All this, therefore, made Rumborough Common, with its store of hidden
treasure, an unusually interesting place, and it was almost too
tantalising to be hurried past the camp with only a longing glance.
Ambrose especially, since his visit to the Nearminster museum, had been
fired with ambition to make a thorough search. Visions of
strange-shaped daggers and spears, bronze cups and bowls with mysterious
inscriptions on them, rusty ornaments, and other relics floated
continually before him. There they were, all waiting hidden below,
ready to fill the empty shelves of the museum. If only father would
consent to go with him and David, and let them poke about as much as
they liked. That would be the only plan, and after much consideration
and many talks together both the boys came to the conclusion that the
vicar must be asked. Who was to ask him? The question was as usual
settled by casting lots, and it fell to Ambrose.
Now, unluckily, the vicar was at this time specially busy. There was to
be a clerical meeting at Nearminster at which he had promised to read a
paper, and the preparation of this filled up all his spare time. At
such moments it required courage to knock at his door and ask questions,
and Ambrose drew back a little. Urged, however, by David, and by the
thoughts of the treasure, he at length made the effort. Directly he got
into the room he saw by all the great books his father had open on the
table, and by the frown on his brow, that he was deeply engrossed. He
looked up, certainly, and seemed to listen, but he was evidently very
far-away from anything connected with Rumborough Common. Gathering,
however, that he was asked to go somewhere, he looked back at his papers
and shook his head.
"My dear boy," he said, "I will listen to you another time, but none of
you are to come and ask me questions just now. Run away to your
mother."
His pen began to scratch away over the paper at a dreadful rate, and
Ambrose returned dejectedly to tell David of his failure. They felt
quite cast-down by it. Mother and father were both going away next
week. They were invited to stay at Miss Unity's house during the
clerical meeting, taking Dickie with them, and would not be home for
four days. This would make a terrible long delay, and it seemed
impossible to wait all that time before asking their father again. Yet
what could be done?
Ambrose felt the disappointment more severely than David. His mind was
so fixed on carrying out his idea that he brooded over it by day and
even dreamed of it at night. Often he saw the shelves of the museum
crowded with all his heart could desire in the way of curious and
ancient objects. But this did not advance matters at all. They
remained in the cold light of day as bare as ever, with great spaces
between the few specimens, and by degrees, as he gazed mournfully at
them, a thought began to take shape in his mind and to become more and
more enticing.
Why should not he and David go to Rumborough Camp alone? Certainly he
had an impression that it would be wrong, but as far as he could
remember it had never been distinctly forbidden, so what harm could
there be in it? He tried to remember if his father or mother had ever
said, "You are not to go alone to Rumborough Common." No. Try as hard
as he could he remembered no such words. In his heart of hearts Ambrose
was conscious all the time that if known such a thing would not be
allowed, for he and David never went beyond the fields round the house
unless Miss Grey or nurse were with them: they had occasionally been as
far as Farmer Hatchard's with a message, but that was the extreme limit.
He would not, however, let his mind dwell on this, for the expedition
began to appear so attractive, so bold, daring, and altogether
delightful, that all other considerations seemed dull and tame. He was
almost tempted to undertake it quite alone, but a little reflection
showed him that a companion would be decidedly useful. Rumborough
Common was a desolate and somewhat alarming place, and besides he might
find too many valuable curiosities to carry home by himself. David's
advice and help must certainly, therefore, be asked.
What would he think of it? Ambrose felt a little bit doubtful. Not
that David wanted either courage or enterprise for such an undertaking,
and if once started upon it he would be sure to carry it through with
undaunted perseverance, but--he was so matter-of-fact. He would
certainly say at once that it would be against rules, for he had a
tiresome way of looking things straight in the face, instead of turning
his eyes a little to one side when it was more convenient or pleasant to
do so.
At any rate, he must be asked to go; but Ambrose went on to consider
that this need not be done until Monday after their father and mother
had gone to Nearminster. That would be two days hence, which would give
him time to think over his plan and make preparations, so that all might
be ready to meet any difficulties from David. Ambrose began to feel
very important when he had settled all this in his mind; it was such an
immense idea that it was most difficult to keep it all within himself,
and he went about with such an air of superiority to daily events that
the other children knew at once he had a secret.
"You look just like Dickie's bantam hen when she has laid an egg," said
Nancy; "but I sha'n't try to guess what you're thinking about. It's
sure to have something to do with that stupid museum."
Ambrose meanwhile began his preparations. He and David both possessed
garden spades, which would be useful; but the ground on Rumborough
Common was hard and chalky, and he felt sure that they would require a
pickaxe as well. Andrew had one, but he was surly about lending his
tools, and there was no chance of getting at them, for he kept them
carefully locked up, and never left any lying about in the garden.
"I say, Andrew," said Ambrose in a careless manner, "I wish you'd just
lend me your pickaxe, please; just to break up some hard ground."
"You're not man enough to use it, Master Ambrose," said Andrew. "It's
too heavy for ye. There's a nice light hoe now, I'd let ye have that
for a bit."
"That wouldn't do," said Ambrose. "It's very hard ground. A hoe would
be of no use at all. I want the pickaxe particularly."
Andrew shook his head.
"Can't loan ye the pickaxe, young master. You'd be doing yourself a
mischief;" and he took up his barrow and went his way.
So that was of no use. Ambrose began to long for Monday to come that he
might tell David and have his help and advice. It was an odd thing to
wish for his father and mother to go away. They seldom left home, and
when they did there was a general outcry and lamentation among the
children, because it was so dull without them. Yet now Ambrose felt it
would be a decided relief when they had gone to Nearminster, for then he
might unburden himself of his great secret.
The time came at last. Ruby, the grey horse, stood waiting with the
waggonette at the door. Andrew sat on the box, ready to drive his
master and mistress into Nearminster. He looked quite a different
Andrew on these occasions from the one who worked in the garden, because
he wore his best coat and hat, which were a size too large for him, and
a roomy pair of white gloves.
The children were all in the hall watching the departure.
"Don't stay longer than you can help, mother," said Pennie; "it's horrid
when you're away."
Mrs Hawthorne kissed them all and said good-bye. She hoped they would
be quite obedient to Miss Grey while she was away, and Ambrose thought
she looked specially at him as she spoke. He flushed a little as he
joined with the others in promising to remember this.
"Now, then," said the vicar coming out of his study, "are we ready?
Where's Dickie?"
Dickie came steadily down-stairs just then, step by step, rather
encumbered in her movements by a large Noah's ark, which she clutched to
her breast. She was calmly triumphant. Nurse followed her, still
suggesting all manner of other toys as more convenient to carry--"a
pretty doll now"--but Dickie was firm. The Noah's ark was her last
birthday present; she must and would take it to Nearminster, and
moreover she would carry it down-stairs herself. So it had to go; but
the moment she was lifted with it into the waggonette she pulled out the
sliding lid in the roof to find the _efilant_, as she called it, and
most of the animals tumbled out. This made it necessary for all the
children to throw themselves into the carriage to pick them up, so that
there was a good deal of delay in starting. At last, however, all was
really settled, and they drove off, Ambrose and David rushing on in
front, as usual, to open the gate and scream out the last good-byes.
"Remember to be good boys," said their mother, leaning towards them as
she passed; and again Ambrose felt as though she were speaking specially
to him. He was not going to be a good boy. That he knew, but he would
not think about it. It was pleasanter to fix his thoughts on all the
advantages to be gained if David would only agree to his proposal, and
make no awkward objections. He would tell him that very evening after
tea, when they were going to fix a new shelf in the museum. Both the
boys had been taught the use of saw and plane by the village carpenter,
and were quite used to doing odd jobs for themselves. David in
particular excelled in anything requiring neatness of finish, and took
great pride in the fittings of the museum, which he was continually
adding to and altering. The shelves were made of any bits of wood the
boys had been able to get, so that at present they were all of different
colours, and did not please him. He had it in his mind to ask Andrew
for some white paint, with which he could produce a very superior
effect, and indeed he was far more engrossed just now with the fittings
of the museum than with objects to be put into it.
Armed with a large hammer, which he wielded with great skill and
determination for so small a boy, he set to work in the museum directly
after tea. Ambrose looked on listlessly. How should he introduce the
subject with which his mind was full? There was certainly no room for
it just now between the energetic blows which David was dealing, as he
fastened up the new shelf into its place. At last he stopped and fell
back a little to look at his work.
"Is that straight?" he asked.
"It's straight enough," answered Ambrose moodily, "but I don't see much
good in putting it up."
David turned round with a face of wonder. "We must have shelves," he
said.
"But we haven't got anything to put on them," replied Ambrose. "It
looks silly to have them all empty."
David looked rather mournful.
"Of course they'd be much better full," he agreed; "but what can we do?
How can we get things?"
"Isn't it a pity," said Ambrose, "that we couldn't ask father to take us
to Rumborough? We could find enough there to fill the museum easily in
half an hour."
David nodded and sighed.
"Why shouldn't we go alone?" said Ambrose, making a bold plunge. "I
know the way." He looked full at his brother.
David did not seem at all startled. He merely said, as he put his
hammer into the tool-box--"Miss Grey wouldn't let us."
"But," continued Ambrose, feeling it easier now that he had begun,
"suppose we didn't ask her?"
David's attention was at last stirred. He turned his blue eyes gravely
towards Ambrose.
"Father and mother wouldn't like that," he said.
Ambrose was quite ready for this objection. "Well," he said, "we don't
know whether they would or not, because we can't ask them now."
"They wouldn't," repeated David decidedly.
"Mother would like the museum to be full," continued Ambrose; "we know
that. And we can't get things anywhere else. She never said we were
not to go to Rumborough alone."
David sat cross-legged on the floor beside his tool-box in an attitude
of the deepest thought. The idea began to be attractive, but he had not
the least doubt that it was wrong.
"We know, all the same, that she wouldn't let us go if we did ask her,"
he said at last.
Ambrose felt that it was time to strike a decided blow.
"Well," he said, with the air of one who has made up his mind, "_I_
shall go--and of course you needn't if you're afraid. I shall bring
home the things and put my name on all the labels, because they'll all
belong to me. It'll scarcely be your museum at all."
David's face fell. A vision rose before him of Ambrose returning from
Rumborough laden with antiquities, and writing his name large upon each.
He, David, would have no right to any of them. Besides, how could he
miss the intense joy of digging in Rumborough Camp, of hearing his spade
strike with a hollow "clink" against some iron casket or rusty piece of
armour? Perhaps they might even be lucky enough to find a skull! It
was too much to resist.
"I'll come," he said slowly. "I know it's wrong, but I'll come. And
I'm not a bit afraid, so you needn't think that."
This settled, they continued to talk over the details of the
expedition--the time, the tools, and so on. Here, as Ambrose had hoped,
David proved of much service. He fixed at once on the best hour to
start. It must be quite early in the morning, between five and six
o'clock, so that they might be there and back before they were missed.
"We can get out by the garden door," he said; "and if they do see us
coming back it won't matter much, because we shall have got the things."
David further suggested that a sack would be useful to bear home the
treasure, laid a deep plan for the capture of Andrew's pickaxe, and
threw himself by degrees heart and soul into the project.
Ambrose had not the least fear now that he would draw back or relax his
efforts. He knew that once David had made up his mind he would prove a
stout support all the way through, and this was a great relief, for he
began to see that there were dangers attending the expedition, and would
not have gone alone on any account. It occurred to him, especially when
he was in bed and it was quite dark, that Rumborough Common was a
favourite haunt of gypsies, tramps, and all sorts of lawless wandering
people.
In old days it had been a noted spot for highwaymen, and though Ambrose
liked to read about them and their daring exploits, he shivered to think
of meeting them in person alone. It was some comfort to remember that
there were no highwaymen now, but there were plenty of perils left to
think of and make him uncomfortable, and at such times he half regretted
having planned the expedition at all. Now, however, he could fall back
on the thought that David was going too, and there was such support in
this that it lost half its terrors.
On the evening before the day fixed for the expedition all was ready.
The pickaxe, secured in one of Andrew's unguarded moments, two spades,
and a large sack lay hidden in the thick ivy which covered the wall near
the garden gate. Nothing remained but to wake early enough the next
morning, before anyone was up, and creep out unobserved. The person
most to be feared was Andrew, who had an awkward habit of coming to his
work at all sorts of odd hours. The boys were inclined to doubt
sometimes if he ever went to bed, for he seemed to know exactly what
kind of weather it had been all night. However that must be risked,
although it would be most undesirable to meet him with the pickaxe in
their possession.
Ambrose went to bed in a fever of excitement, with a mind firmly fixed
on keeping his eyes wide open until morning, for that was the only way
to be sure of being awake at the right time. It depended on him alone,
for David was such a profound sleeper that he could not be relied on at
all: it would most likely be very difficult even to rouse him at the
proper hour. Very soon, from the little bed next to him, Ambrose heard
the deep regular breathing, which showed that he was in the land of
dreams. How could he sleep on such an exciting occasion?
Hour after hour sounded from the old church tower; shadows from the
sprays of ivy outside danced on the window-blind in the moonlight; now
and then a dog barked a long way off, and was answered by a nearer one.
What a long, long while the night lasted if you were not asleep!
Ambrose tossed restlessly on his pillow, and longed for the morning to
come. It seemed very soon after this that the next hour sounded. He
counted the strokes: these ought to have been 12, but there were only 5.
Could the clock be wrong? He started up and looked round the room; it
was not lighted by the moon now; it was broad daylight, and he had been
to sleep after all!
The first thing was to waken David, who was lying in a tranquil slumber
with a smile on his face, as though Rumborough Camp had no existence.
Ambrose called him gently and then shook him, but though he half-opened
his eyes he immediately shut them again, turned on his side with a deep
and comfortable sigh, and was faster asleep than ever. Some decided
step must be taken. Without an instant's hesitation Ambrose got a wet
sponge and laid it on his brother's face. David woke with a snort of
disgust and started up.
"What's the matter?" he asked.
"Hush-sh-ush!" said Ambrose, holding up a warning finger; "it's time to
start. _Rumborough_, you know."
Thoroughly wakened by these words David was out of bed in an instant,
and the two boys, creeping stealthily about the room, quickly huddled on
their clothes. Then they went on tiptoe down the stairs, which creaked
under their guilty footsteps as though they cried "Stop thief!" and on
through the wide, silent hall, where Snuff the terrier, coiled on his
mat, looked at them with an air of sleepy surprise, but did not stir.
But then came a difficulty. The garden door closed with a bolt high
above their reach, so that David had to mount upon his brother's back to
get at it. Even then he could not manage to move it at first, for it
was rusty, and when he did succeed it shot back with sudden violence and
made enough noise to waken the whole household. The boys stared
horror-stricken at each other, but there was no movement to be heard in
the house. Recovering courage they quickly picked up their tools, and
were soon fairly started on their way. This led for a short distance
along the high-road until, crossing a stile, they came to broad meadows,
where Farmer Hatchard's cows were munching peacefully away at the short
dewy grass. So far they were not beyond the allowed limits, and though
they instinctively drew closer together as they passed through the herd
of cows, they felt that none of the perils of the adventure had begun.
It was all familiar ground until they had passed the farm. Then came
Blackberry Lane, which was a short cut to Rumborough Common. Blackberry
Lane was so narrow that the straggling brambles and honeysuckles in the
tall hedges almost met overhead. It was very steep, very stony, and
always rather dark, a place, where it was easy to imagine any number of
robbers lying in wait. The boys climbed slowly up the steep ascent,
casting awed glances to right and left. The pickaxe weighed heavily on
Ambrose's shoulder, and David had quite as much as he could do to trudge
along with two spades and a sack.
It was a relief when they came suddenly out of the gloomy shadows of the
lane on to the broad expanse of Rumborough Common. There it lay
stretched out before them, with a rough cart track across the middle of
it. A lonely, cheerless-looking place! Bare of trees, except for one
group of ragged firs, which marked the position of what was called the
Camp. Not a house in sight, not a sign of life anywhere, nothing to
break its even surface but some pools of water glimmering coldly grey in
the morning light.
A sudden fear seized on Ambrose as he and David stood still for a moment
to take breath. Brought face to face with Rumborough Common in this
way, it seemed to present all manner of possible perils, which might
come to light at any moment. He would willingly have turned back, and
had he been alone would certainly have done so; but--David was there.
It would not do to show any want of courage before his younger brother,
who, moreover, had given no sign of wishing to give up the expedition.
They must go on; they must cross that wide space which lay between them
and the camp; they must reach those dark threatening fir-trees, and
encounter, very likely, some desperate characters lying there in ambush,
ready to spring upon the lonely traveller. All the romantic tales he
had ever read, all the worst stories of bloodshed and horrors crowded
upon Ambrose's mind as the two boys plodded steadily along the cart
track, bending a little under their burdens.
"Andrew said once that there used to be a ghost here," said David,
breaking the silence.
"Don't," said Ambrose, giving him a sharp dig with his elbow.
"He was a tinker," continued David, "and he drowned himself in one of
the ponds."
"I wish you wouldn't be so silly," said Ambrose impatiently. "You know
there aren't any ghosts. You know father says so--and besides they
never stay out after cock-crow--and besides, if there were they couldn't
hurt us."
"Mother says nothing will hurt us if we're not doing wrong," said David;
"but we are doing wrong, aren't we?"
Ambrose gave a nervous laugh, which sounded to himself very thin and
funny.
"If there are any ghosts here, I should think they'd be Roman ghosts,"
he said.
A Roman ghost was a new idea to David. He dwelt on it a little before
he asked:
"How should you think a Roman ghost would look?"
"Oh, how should I know?" exclaimed Ambrose irritably. "I wish you'd
talk about something else."
"Well," concluded David thoughtfully, "if there are any Roman ghosts
about, I shouldn't think they'd like to see us digging up their things."
The Camp reached, they stood still a moment gravely surveying it. It
was formed by two low banks of turf, one within the other, almost
complete circles, but broken here and there; the tall, black fir-trees
stood near like sentinels on guard.
Ambrose dropped the pickaxe off his shoulder with a sigh of relief and
sat down by it on the ground. He felt strangely indifferent to
beginning the search now that he was really here, and might dig as long
as he liked without anyone to say him nay. David's remarks about ghosts
had not made him more at his ease. Ghosts were all very well when you
were safe at home, with well-known people and things all round you; but
here, on this lonely Common, no subject could have been worse chosen.
It was stupid of David. He sat beside his pickaxe feeling more creepy
and nervous and uncomfortable every moment, until David, who had been
carefully examining the inclosed space, struck his spade firmly on a
certain spot and exclaimed:
"Here's a good place to begin!"
"Why?" asked Ambrose moodily, without moving.
"It looks," said David, kneeling down to see more closely, "as if it had
been dug up before."
"Well, then," returned Ambrose, "it wouldn't be a good place, because
they'll have found all the things."
It was a bare spot in one side of the bank where there was no turf, and
the earth looked loose and crumbling. David rose and struck his spade
into it.
"You try somewhere else," he said, "I mean to dig here."
A little roused by this example Ambrose took up the heavy pickaxe again
and went over to David's side. He was making a good deep hole, but it
was very narrow because his spade was so small.
"Wait a minute," said Ambrose, "let me have a go at it."
He raised up the pickaxe with all his strength, down it came, and stuck
so fast that he and David together could hardly get it out again. But
when it was dislodged they found it had done good service, for it broke
up the earth all round the hole, so that they could now get both their
spades into it and work away together. For some minutes they went on in
silence, David with even steady strokes and Ambrose with feverishly
quick ones. Nothing came to light but little round stones and chalky
mould, not even a coin or a bone!
"I believe this isn't a good place," said Ambrose hopelessly, resting on
his spade, "let's try somewhere else."
Just as he spoke David's spade struck against something with a sharp
clinking sound.
"What's that?" exclaimed Ambrose.
All his excitement returning he threw himself on the ground and
scratched away the earth with his hands.
"Wait a moment!" he cried; "don't dig. I see something shining."
"What's it like?" asked David breathlessly. He could see nothing, for
Ambrose had thrust his head right into the hole. He presently withdrew
it, and looked up at David nearly choking and almost speechless with
eagerness.
"I don't know yet," he managed to say, "we must get the earth away from
it."
He scooped up handful after handful, and David, sitting on his heels,
watched the operations with deep solemnity. He could see a bit of this
mysterious object now, and presently he remarked:
"I believe it's only a bit of broken china."
"Nonsense!" said Ambrose hoarsely. His face was scarlet; he could
hardly speak. Ghosts, robbers, and all other terrors forgotten, his
whole soul was bent on unearthing this long-dreamed-of treasure.
"I can feel it," he said at last. "I can get my fingers round it. But
it sticks fast."
"Take my knife," said David, producing a stout weapon from his pocket.
Ambrose gently eased away the earth round the unknown object. Trembling
with triumph he extracted it from its bed and raised it on high:
"Broken china indeed!" he exclaimed scornfully.
It was a small earthenware crock of quaint shape with two very tiny
handles or ears, and so incrusted with mould that only here and there
you could see that it was of a deep-red colour. The top was covered by
a lid.
Ambrose laid it on the grass between himself and David, and both the
boys surveyed it with awe. They had really made a discovery in
Rumborough Camp!
"Do you suppose it's Roman?" said David at last, drawing a long breath
and speaking very softly.
"What else should it be?" said Ambrose. He scraped away some of the
earth clinging to the jar, touching it reverently as though it were a
sacred object. "It's just as Roman as it can be. Look at the shape!"
"It's something like the pot Miss Unity sent us the honey in last
summer," said David, with his eyes fixed on the crock.
"Nonsense!" said Ambrose sharply. "I tell you it's an antique. Why, I
saw rows and rows like it in the museum at Nearminster. How stupid you
are!" He spoke with some heat. David, on his side, did not like to be
treated with scorn, which he felt he had not deserved.
"_I_ found it," he said quietly, "_I_ was digging."
"I got it out," said Ambrose, still bending over the treasure.
"You'd have given up digging without me," persisted David. "It's just
as much mine as yours."
"Well, anyhow, we settled to go halves in all we found," said Ambrose,
"and you wouldn't have known it was valuable without me. A honey-pot
indeed!"
He laughed jeeringly.
David was becoming more and more hurt in his mind. He sat looking
sulkily at the antique, and when Ambrose laughed he had half a mind to
take up his spade and smash it. Instead of this he suddenly put out his
hand, took off the lid, and felt inside it. His fingers touched
something cold.
"There's money in it!" he exclaimed. "Oh, Ambrose, look!"
On his outstretched palm there glittered three bright golden pieces.
"Coins?" said Ambrose, looking impressively at his brother.
He took one in his hand and examined it carefully, turning it over and
over. There was a head on it, and some queer figures he could not
understand, but he knew they were numbers.
"I told you it was Roman," he said; "here's a date in Roman figures."
"What is it?" asked David.
Unfortunately Ambrose could not tell. There was a v and an x, and a
great many straight strokes, but he had no idea what they represented.
He sat, puzzling over it with a deep frown.
"They look just like sovereigns, don't they?" said the matter-of-fact
David; "and I thought old coins were never bright. They're generally
all green and brown and ugly."
"Well," said Ambrose, putting the pieces of money back into the crock;
"we've got some splendid things for the museum at last. Aren't you glad
we came?"
David had not quite recovered his temper. He felt that it ought to be
more thoroughly understood that it was he who had made both the
discoveries; then he should be satisfied. But he could not bear Ambrose
to take this tone of superiority. As they picked up their tools and
prepared to start homewards he said, "I should think you're glad I came,
because I found the pot, and the money too."
"You ought to say `coins,' not `money,'" said Ambrose loftily.
It is sad to record that, before they were half-way home, the partners
had fallen into open dispute over their booty. David wished to carry
it; Ambrose refused; wrangling followed for the rest of the way, and
when they stole guiltily in at the vicarage gate David was in tears, and
Ambrose flushed and angry. No one was in the garden to notice their
return, and, having replaced the tools, the crock was carried upstairs
hidden in the breast of Ambrose's tunic. In the passage they met Nurse.
"You've been out early, Master Ambrose," was all she said, and passed
on, unsuspicious.
So far the adventure had been attended with golden success at every
step, yet, strange to say, it had not brought much pleasure with it.
There was the crock of gold certainly in the museum upstairs; but there
was also a load on the boys' minds which hindered all enjoyment of it.
How could they display it to their mother when it was the price of
disobedience?