"The camp is abandoned?" asked Tom.
"It is not a camp," replied the young novice; "it is not a village.
They are ant-hills!"
"Ant-hills!" exclaimed Cousin Benedict, whom that word aroused.
"Yes, Mr. Benedict, but ant-hills twelve feet high, at least, and in which we shall endeavor to hide ourselves."
"But then," replied Cousin Benedict, "those would be ant-hills of the warlike termite or of the devouring termite. Only those ingenious insects raise such monuments, which the greatest architects would not disown."
"Whether they be termites or not, Mr. Benedict," replied Dick Sand, "we must dislodge them and take their place."
"They will devour us. They will be defending their rights."
"Forward! Forward!"
"But, wait now!" said Cousin Benedict again. "I thought those ant-hills only existed in Africa."
"Forward!" exclaimed Dick Sand, for the last time, with a sort of violence. He was so much afraid that Mrs. Weldon might hear the last word pronounced by the entomologist.