Chapter Nine.
Something the Matter.
The two lads were so accustomed to rough country life and to making wading expeditions for trout in the little rivers, or rushing in after the waves down by the seashore, that, after giving their garments a thorough good wring, they soon forgot all about the dampness in the interest of searching for the entrance to the secret passage down by the lake.
“I know how it must all have been,” said Scarlett. “When our house was built, there must have been wars. I dare say it was in the War of the Roses, and that place was contrived, so that in case of need any one could escape.”
“Yes; and if the place was taken, the rightful owners could get in again.”
“And now it’s all peace,” said Scarlett, thoughtfully, “and we can make it our cave, and do what we like there.”
“But it isn’t all peace,” said Fred. “I heard father say that if the king went on much longer as he’s going on now, there might be war.”
“Who with—France?”
“No; a civil war.”