The children stood with their mouths open, and no one said a word.

At last Robert stooped and picked up one of the loose coins from the
edge of the heap by the cart-road, and looked at it. He looked on both
sides. Then he said in a low voice, quite different to his own, "It's
not sovereigns."

"It's gold, anyway," said Cyril. And now they all began to talk at once.
They all picked up the golden treasure by handfuls and let it run
through their fingers like water, and the chink it made as it fell was
wonderful music. At first they quite forgot to think of spending the
money, it was so nice to play with. Jane sat down between two heaps of
the gold, and Robert began to bury her, as you bury your father in sand
when you are at the seaside and he has gone to sleep on the beach with
his newspaper over his face. But Jane was not half buried before she
cried out, "Oh stop, it's too heavy! It hurts!"

Robert said "Bosh!" and went on.

"Let me out, I tell you," cried Jane, and was taken out, very white, and
trembling a little.

"You've no idea what it's like," said she; "it's like stones on you--or
like chains."

"Look here," Cyril said, "if this is to do us any good, it's no good our
staying gasping at it like this. Let's fill our pockets and go and buy
things. Don't you forget, it won't last after sunset. I wish we'd asked
the Sammyadd why things don't turn to stone. Perhaps this will. I'll
tell you what, there's a pony and cart in the village."