“Yes, and then, you know, we can leave the hole open, and explain to the others why we dug it. We can induce them also to do a little more digging, perhaps.” “But if we find anything there’ll be a still stronger temptation to dig.” “O, if we find anything, all the cellars in the place will be turned inside out.” “David Digg will have a chance to prove himself deserving of his name.” “What a joke it would be if Pat were to see us! He’d be wild with curiosity, and follow us so as to see.” “O, there’s no danger. Nobody’ll come--that’s just because we want them,” said Phil. Chatting in this way they marched up the hill, back again to the old French orchard, which they reached without having attracted the smallest attention from anybody, and at length they all stood once more with their spades by the cellar. Very different was this occasion from the last, and they all felt it so. The last had been one of pure fun and nonsense, disturbed, however, by the tremors of some of their number; this time, on the contrary, was an occasion in which business seemed to predominate. They paused for a little while on the edge of the cellar, before committing themselves to their work. Upon this Bart began to whine out through his nose a doleful ditty, to the tune of Auld Lang Syne. “Whene’er I take my walks abroad How many holes I see! But how they came upon the ground Completely puzzles me. “Here once the peaceful Frenchman dwelt, And passed his happy days In draining bogs, devouring frogs, And cultivating maize. “These holes, no doubt, were dug by him; We see them all around; And all Grand Pré to me appears A very holy ground.” “That’s what Captain Corbet would call a ‘hime,’” said Phil, with a laugh. “It’s too solemn, Bart, for this occasion. We want something business-like now.” “Then here goes,” said Bart, who had a happy talent for improvising. And he droned out the following, in a whining voice, but to a livelier measure:-- “Over Minas’s Bay Came the French to Grand Pré, And they all were remarkable fellers; They lived upon frogs, And they wore wooden clogs, And preserved their potatoes in cellars.” “There,” said Arthur, “that’s enough, Bart. If we don’t stop you now, you’ll go on till sundown. If we’re going to dig, we’d better begin, for it’s getting late, and it’ll be dark before we know it.” “All right, my son,” said Bart. “Here goes--come along.” And seizing his spade, he rushed down into the cellar; and plunging it deep into the earth, he began to throw it out.