A short time after the arrival of our travellers, their hostess inquired
if they had yet found any fossils. Mysie frankly confessed that they did
not know there were any to find, which was evidently as great a surprise
to Mrs. F. as their ignorance of the Fresnel light had been to her
husband. She at once offered the services of her daughter Clarissa as
guide and assistant, and gave glowing accounts of the treasures to be
found. The offer was gladly accepted; and Clarissa, a merry little romp,
about twelve years old, soon made her appearance, armed with a pickaxe,
hoe, and basket.

Thus laden, and in the teeth of a shrewd northeast wind, the little
barefooted pioneer led the way directly over the brow of a cliff, which,
had Mysie been alone, she would have pronounced entirely impracticable.
Now, however, fired with a lofty emulation, she silently followed her
guide, grasping, however, at every shrub and protection with somewhat
convulsive energy.

"Here's a good place," announced Clarissa, pausing where a shelf of
gravelly rock afforded tolerable foothold. "Professor Hitchcock told
father that in here were strata of the tertiary formation, and there's
where we get the fossils."

"But how do you come at the tertiary formation through all this sand and
gravel?" asked Mysie, aghast at the prospect.

"Oh, dig; that's why I brought the pick and hoe; we must dig a hole
about a foot deep, and then we shall come to the stuff that has the
fossils in it. You may have the hoe, and I'll take the pick, 'cause
that's the hardest."