Brought face to face with Rumborough Common in this
way, it seemed to present all manner of possible perils, which might
come to light at any moment. He would willingly have turned back, and
had he been alone would certainly have done so; but--David was there.
It would not do to show any want of courage before his younger brother,
who, moreover, had given no sign of wishing to give up the expedition.
They must go on; they must cross that wide space which lay between them
and the camp; they must reach those dark threatening fir-trees, and
encounter, very likely, some desperate characters lying there in ambush,
ready to spring upon the lonely traveller. All the romantic tales he
had ever read, all the worst stories of bloodshed and horrors crowded
upon Ambrose's mind as the two boys plodded steadily along the cart
track, bending a little under their burdens.

"Andrew said once that there used to be a ghost here," said David,
breaking the silence.

"Don't," said Ambrose, giving him a sharp dig with his elbow.

"He was a tinker," continued David, "and he drowned himself in one of
the ponds."

"I wish you wouldn't be so silly," said Ambrose impatiently. "You know
there aren't any ghosts. You know father says so--and besides they
never stay out after cock-crow--and besides, if there were they couldn't
hurt us."

"Mother says nothing will hurt us if we're not doing wrong," said David;
"but we are doing wrong, aren't we?"

Ambrose gave a nervous laugh, which sounded to himself very thin and
funny.

"If there are any ghosts here, I should think they'd be Roman ghosts,"
he said.

A Roman ghost was a new idea to David. He dwelt on it a little before
he asked:

"How should you think a Roman ghost would look?"

"Oh, how should I know?" exclaimed Ambrose irritably. "I wish you'd
talk about something else."

"Well," concluded David thoughtfully, "if there are any Roman ghosts
about, I shouldn't think they'd like to see us digging up their things."

The Camp reached, they stood still a moment gravely surveying it. It
was formed by two low banks of turf, one within the other, almost
complete circles, but broken here and there; the tall, black fir-trees
stood near like sentinels on guard.

Ambrose dropped the pickaxe off his shoulder with a sigh of relief and
sat down by it on the ground. He felt strangely indifferent to
beginning the search now that he was really here, and might dig as long
as he liked without