At last Robert stopped 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 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