"Yes, treasures. Not buried treasures--Spanish doubloons or ingots, my boy, but nature's own treasures. We may as well hunt in all sorts of places, for I mean to find something worth working before I have done." "I say, father, isn't it all stuff and nonsense about anything living in a cave like this?" "What--of the hobgoblin kind, Dick?" "Yes, father." Mr Temple did not answer for a few moments, and then he replied in the same low tone as that in which his son had asked the question. "For shame, Dick!" he said softly. That was all. Dick felt it as a severe rebuke, and did not speak for a minute or two as they went on winding in and out among the rocks, with the roof rapidly curving down, and the floor, which was sandy no longer, seeming to rise as the sides of the cave contracted and the travelling had become an awkward climb. "I don't believe any of that stuff, father," said Dick softly. "That's right," replied Mr Temple. "Hah: yes!" he said holding the lantern so that the light shone on the roof--"tin!" "Tin, father?" cried Dick joyfully. "Have you found tin?" "Yes, but too poor to be worth working;" and Mr Temple went on a little, and stopped to chip the side with his hammer. "Traces of copper here," he said. "Look: peacock ore; very pretty to look at, but ruinous to work, Dick. Ah! we seem to be coming to the end now." "Would seals be likely to live in a cave like this?" said Dick. "I should think not," replied Mr Temple. "The entrance is not near enough to the water. I think they like a place where they can swim right in and out at all times of the tide." "That's so," said Josh, who had overheard the remark. "The cave we know, Master Dick," said Will, "is one where you can row right in." "Can't we go now?" cried Dick excitedly. "Wait, wait," said Mr Temple, "don't be impatient, my lad. All in good time. Ah! here is the end; and look here, my man, here are some of your strange creatures' drinking vessels." As he spoke he stepped forward and let the light play upon some pieces of wood, beyond which were five or six very old empty tubs that were a little less than ordinary wooden pails, but narrow at each end like a barrel. Josh came forward with Will to stare at the half-rotten fragments, which were black and slimy with the drippings from the roof, and the iron hoops were so eaten away that upon Mr Temple touching one of the tubs with his foot it crumbled down into a heap of black-looking earth. "Fishermen's buoys," said Will, looking at the heap wonderingly. "No, my lad; smugglers' brandy-tubs," said Mr Temple. "And you, Josh, here's the explanation of your cock-and-bull story. Some fishermen once saw the smugglers stealing in here by night, and at once set them down as being supernatural. There, let's get out and climb up the rock to the old working. No. Stop; just as I thought; here is the adit."