Penelope and the Others | Page 8

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