The mound proved to be a small green hillock in the corner of a very stony field close to the bridge.
"It's just the kind of place the prehistoric people used to bury their chiefs under," declared Cathy. "Don't you remember the pictures I showed you in Mother's book? There ought to be a skeleton in the middle, and all the drinking-vessels and ornaments and things which they put in the grave with him. If we pull a few of these stones away I think we shall be able to dig; the soil seems fairly light."
"It's very soft here," I said, putting in my spade as I spoke and turning up the turf without much difficulty.
"So it is. Perhaps a rabbit has burrowed there and loosened the earth. We'll go on here, as it seems an easy place."
We had not dug more than a foot deep when Cathy's spade struck upon something hard.
"Stop, Philippa! Be careful!" she cried. "If there's really anything here we mustn't spoil it on any account."
She went down on her knees, and, putting her hand into the hole we had dug, began to feel about cautiously.
"There is! There actually is!" she exclaimed, and with eyes shining with delight she drew forth a small round vessel fashioned somewhat in the shape of an urn. It appeared to be made of baked clay, and was broken and crumbling round the top and stained with darkish marks below.
"It must be two thousand years old or more," said Cathy, in a voice of rapture. "And there's something inside it too!"
She turned it carefully upside down, and out fell a few little bones and five worn and rusty-looking coins.