“I’m not, I tell you,” said Philip; “it’s a skull, and there’s another bit of one, and some bones; and here’s an old farthing, such a thick one, and so badly made; and, ugh! why, that’s a bit of jawbone, with all the teeth fallen out.”
Just then Harry came up to them and saw that, indeed, they had hit upon something more curious—if less attractive—than anything they had before been that day.
“Why, this isn’t a farthing,” said Fred, who had been examining the coin; “I know what it is, it’s a Roman coin. My Papa has got one, something like it.”
Just then they heard Mr Inglis calling close at hand, and Philip bounded off to fetch him and tell of their discovery. This hastened the Squire’s steps, and very soon he was carefully inspecting what the boys had laid bare. He immediately confirmed Fred’s opinion that the coin was Roman, and also said that it was of silver, and appeared to bear the name of Constantine. Fred’s piece of old iron was unmistakably the blade of a sword, but almost completely eaten away, and the bones and two skulls were directly pronounced to be human; but they crumbled away to dust almost immediately.
“Bravo, boys,” said Mr Inglis at last; “you have indeed made a discovery. I have long been under the impression that this old trench must contain some curious antiquities, but never thought to see them laid bare in so singular a manner. We must have spades and pickaxes up here to-morrow, if we can get permission: but let’s turn over the gravel with our sticks; we may, perhaps, find something more to-day.”
“But won’t the skulls and bones be nasty, and poisonous, uncle?” said Fred.
Mr Inglis smiled, and then said, “No, my boy. You have read how that God made Adam of the dust of the earth, and how that it is said, ‘To dust thou shalt return,’ and here you see how that it is so. Touch that bone ever so lightly, and you sea it has crumbled away to ‘dust of the earth!’ God has so arranged, by His great wisdom, that the earth shall deprive everything of its ill odour and poisonous nature when buried therein, so that even in some great pit upon a battle-field where, perhaps, scores—of the slain had been covered-in, in the course of time nothing would be found there but rich soil, for our bodies are chemically composed of nothing but salts and water. I do not mean what we commonly call salt, which is chloride of sodium, but of earthy salts.”
“Well, but how can that be, Papa?” said Harry. “Has it ever been proved?”
“Oh! yes, my boy; and in no way more simply than by the very people who dug this trench. What did they often do with their dead, Harry?”
“Why, buried them, didn’t they?” said Harry. “Oh! no, I know; they used to make a great wicker idol, and put them in and burn them.”