plied David, with his eyes fixed on the short dry turf at his feet. "Oh, look!" he exclaimed suddenly, "there's a funny snail."
Ambrose stooped to examine it. It was an empty white shell with curious black stripes on it.
"It's a Roman snail," he said rising with a superior air. "You know they used to eat them."
David stood with his short legs wide apart, his hands in his pockets, his grave eyes fixed on the shell in his brother's hand.
"Did the Romans bring it?" he asked. "How very old it must be!"
"How stupid you are!" said Ambrose. "Of course I meant they brought some like it, and then there got to be more and more snails--like Sir Walter Raleigh and the potato."
"It'll do nicely for the museum, won't it?" said David, "and we'll write a label for it with `Roman snail, found near Rumborough Camp.'" By this time it was no longer possible to avoid seeing that Miss Grey was waving her parasol in the far distance. Probably one of the girls would be sent back to