“Why, old Solomon,” said he, gently, “you’re not frightened—are you? It’s only our nonsense. Come, Grand Panjandrum, don’t take it in earnest. It’s all humbug, you know,” he added, dropping his voice. “Between you and me, we none of us take it in earnest. Come, you keep the lamps burning, and be the Grand Panjandrum.”
At this a little of Solomon’s confidence was restored. He ventured to the edge of the cellar, and lifted up the basket in time to save it from burning up; but scarce had he done this than he retreated; the gloom, the darkness, the magic ceremonies, were too awful.
“Come,” said Tom, “let’s begin the ceremonies.”
Captain Corbet gave another sigh.
“I feel dreadful anxious,” said he, “about the infant; I’m afeard somethins happened; I feel as if I’d orter be to hum.”
“All right, captain,” said Bart; “we’ll all be home before long, and with the pot of gold, you know. Come, cheer up, for the ceremonies are going to begin.”
“See here, now,” said Captain Corbet. “This here’s a solemn occasion. I feel solemn. It’s awful dark. We don’t know what’s buried here, or what will happen; so let’s don’t have any heathen ceremonies.”
“O, the ceremonies are not heathen,” said Bart. “Each of us is going to make an incantation in the most solemn language that we can think of; so, boys, begin.”
“The most solemn thing that I can think of,” said Phil, “is English history; so here goes.” And stretching forth his hand solemnly, he said, in a whining voice, like a boy reciting a lesson:—
“Britain was very little known to the rest of the world before the time of the Romans. The coasts opposite Gaul were frequented by merchants, who traded thither for such commodities as the natives were able to produce.”