“And what about this where we are, sir?”
“It seems to me, Ned, as if it were the cindery froth on the top, that was full of gas and steam, so that when it cooled it left all these holes and cracks and crevices. Look at that piece lying there; only that it’s of a beautiful silvery grey, it looks just like one of the pieces of cinder which pop out of the fire.”
“Want a pretty good-sized fire for a piece like that to pop out of, sir,” said the man scornfully.
“Well, it must have been a good-sized fire when this great mountain was in eruption, and the red-hot lava boiling over the sides of the crater and running down.”
“But do you really think it ever did, sir?”
“I have no doubt about it whatever. Look at that piece lying half buried in the black sand. What is that?”
“Looks like black glass, sir,” said Ned, kicking a piece of obsidian.
“Well, it is volcanic glass. How could that have been made without heat?”
“I dunno, sir. It caps me.”
“You said the place was hot.”