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“You may break, you may shatter
The vase if you will;
But the scent of the Romans
Will cling round it still.”

Denny sat down amid applause. It really was a great idea, at least for him. It seemed to add just what was wanted to the visit of the Maidstone Antiquities. To sell the Antiquities thoroughly would be indeed splendiferous. Of course, Dora made haste to point out that we had not got an old medal of the Duke of Wellington, and that we hadn’t any doctor who would “help us to stuff to efface,” and etcetera; but we sternly bade her stow it. We weren’t going to do exactly like those Daisy Chain kids.

The pottery was easy. We had made a lot of it by the stream–which was the Nile when we discovered its source–and dried it in the sun, and then baked it under a bonfire, like in Foul Play. And most of the things were such queer shapes that they would have done for almost anything–Roman or Greek, or even Egyptian or antediluvian, or household milk-jugs of the cave-men, Albert’s uncle said. The pots were, fortunately, quite ready and dirty, because we had already buried them in mixed sand and river mud to improve the color, and not remembered to wash it off.

So the Council at once collected it all–and some rusty hinges and some brass buttons and a file without a handle; and the girl Councillors carried it all concealed in their pinafores, while the men members carried digging tools. H. O. and Daisy were sent on ahead as scouts to see if the coast was clear. We have learned the true usefulness of scouts from reading about the Transvaal War. But all was still in the hush of evening sunset on the Roman ruin.

We posted sentries, who were to lie on their stomachs on the walls and give a long, low, signifying whistle if aught approached.

Then we dug a tunnel, like the one we once did after treasure, when we happened to bury a boy. It took some time; but never shall it be said that a Bastable grudged time or trouble when a lark was at stake. We put the things in as naturally as we could, and shoved the dirt back, till everything looked just as before. Then we went home, late for tea. But it was in a good cause; and there was no hot toast, only bread-and-butter, which does not get cold with waiting.

That night Alice whispered to Oswald on the stairs, as we went up to bed:

“Meet me outside your door when the others are asleep. Hist! Not a word.”

Oswald said, “No kid?”

And she replied in the affirmation.

So he kept awake by biting his tongue and pulling his hair–for he shrinks from no pain if it is needful and right.

And when the others all slept the sleep of innocent youth, he got up and went out, and there was Alice dressed.

She said, “I’ve found some broken things that look ever so much more Roman–they were on top of the cupboard in the library. If you’ll come with me, we’ll bury them–just to see how surprised the others will be.”

It was a wild and daring act, but Oswald did not mind.

He said:

“Wait half a shake.” And he put on his knickerbockers and jacket, and slipped a few peppermints into his pocket in case of catching cold. It is these thoughtful expedients which mark the born explorer and adventurer.

It was a little cold; but the white moonlight was very fair to see, and we decided we’d do some other daring moonlight act some other day. We got out of the front door, which is never locked till Albert’s uncle goes to bed at twelve or one, and we ran swiftly and silently across the bridge and through the fields to the Roman ruin.