and they’ve forgotten we exist!”
“Oh, carry on, you lot!” Miss Sanders called over her shoulder.
“There,” Keith grinned at him. “That’s better.”
Enthusiasm rekindled, Keith doubled his efforts at searching, breaking up even the tiniest pieces of earth in his sieve and shaking them through. Miss Sanders had hinted of a shallow burial. There might be a skeleton here some place. Most likely, it would be cremated fragments in a funerary urn, which was relatively small and easy to overlook if you weren’t digging smack over it. The others were coming up with small artifacts, or fragments of larger items. With respectful hands, Holl was turning over a green, flaking piece of metal that could have been a bronze axe head. The two ladies and Edwin were standing back so the assistant could sprinkle chalk along the outline of a long bundle that lay exposed across their three sections. Keith’s patch still showed no signs of yielding up anything interesting.
He went on digging, undaunted by failure. Since his patch was adjacent to Matthew’s, it was possible that there was something hidden there, another clue to the solution of the puzzle of the Bronze Age settlement that had once been there. With a mighty heave, Keith tossed the earth from his sorting pan over his shoulder and bent down, trowel in hand, to start over filling it up.
“What are you doing, lad?” a voice roared from behind him. “More care! More care!” Arrested, Keith tilted his head back until he was looking straight up into the face of Dr. Crutchley, face red above the collar of his white short-sleeved shirt over which he was wearing a sleeveless knitted waistcoat. Over which someone had inconsiderately sprinkled a truckload of dirt. Keith swallowed guiltily.
He sprang to his feet and began to brush off the protesting professor. “Uh-oh, I’m so sorry, sir. I wasn’t watching where that was going.”
“Take it more slowly in future,” Dr. Crutchley ordered, batting irritatedly at the front of his waistcoat, which sent clouds of gray dust floating into the air. “I came over to compliment you lads on the skill you showed at bringing out that pottery piece, but it may have been a fluke! You could be missing something working at a pace like that, or worse yet, destroying it in your haste. More care is needed. Or perhaps it would be better if you stopped what you were doing and helped to catalog our finds instead?” He pointed the stem of his pipe toward the table. Keith followed his thrust and shook his head vigorously.
“Oh, no. I’d rather help out finding things, sir. Normally I’m good at digging things up.”
Crutchley flicked particles of dust off one arm with a decisive finger. “Yes, though more like a surgeon exposing tissues, boy, and less like a dog burying a bone.”
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
“I admire your initiative, but keep the energy for endurance, not speed. Carry on.” The professor walked away, reaching into his back pocket for a tobacco pouch and plunging the bowl of his pipe into it.
“Ooh, that was a rough ticking off,” Edwin said under his breath.
“Hah,” said Keith, going back to digging, but much more slowly. His face was invisible to the others, but his ears were red. “That was nothing. I’ve been chewed out by experts.”
As the sun began to throw longer shadows over the dig, the team called a halt to the work. Some contrast was useful, as it threw the edges of hidden objects into relief, but if the angle was too great, pebbles began to look like potsherds. Gratefully, Keith and the others creaked to their feet and exercised stiff legs and backs. Miss Sanders and the male assistant made tea inside the square tent, and distributed it to the workers in stained, chunky pottery mugs.
“From the look of these,” Mrs. Green quipped, “ceramics skills haven’t changed much in forty centuries.”
“Man hasn’t changed significantly over the ages,” Dr. Crutchley replied, settling
“Oh, carry on, you lot!” Miss Sanders called over her shoulder.
“There,” Keith grinned at him. “That’s better.”
Enthusiasm rekindled, Keith doubled his efforts at searching, breaking up even the tiniest pieces of earth in his sieve and shaking them through. Miss Sanders had hinted of a shallow burial. There might be a skeleton here some place. Most likely, it would be cremated fragments in a funerary urn, which was relatively small and easy to overlook if you weren’t digging smack over it. The others were coming up with small artifacts, or fragments of larger items. With respectful hands, Holl was turning over a green, flaking piece of metal that could have been a bronze axe head. The two ladies and Edwin were standing back so the assistant could sprinkle chalk along the outline of a long bundle that lay exposed across their three sections. Keith’s patch still showed no signs of yielding up anything interesting.
He went on digging, undaunted by failure. Since his patch was adjacent to Matthew’s, it was possible that there was something hidden there, another clue to the solution of the puzzle of the Bronze Age settlement that had once been there. With a mighty heave, Keith tossed the earth from his sorting pan over his shoulder and bent down, trowel in hand, to start over filling it up.
“What are you doing, lad?” a voice roared from behind him. “More care! More care!” Arrested, Keith tilted his head back until he was looking straight up into the face of Dr. Crutchley, face red above the collar of his white short-sleeved shirt over which he was wearing a sleeveless knitted waistcoat. Over which someone had inconsiderately sprinkled a truckload of dirt. Keith swallowed guiltily.
He sprang to his feet and began to brush off the protesting professor. “Uh-oh, I’m so sorry, sir. I wasn’t watching where that was going.”
“Take it more slowly in future,” Dr. Crutchley ordered, batting irritatedly at the front of his waistcoat, which sent clouds of gray dust floating into the air. “I came over to compliment you lads on the skill you showed at bringing out that pottery piece, but it may have been a fluke! You could be missing something working at a pace like that, or worse yet, destroying it in your haste. More care is needed. Or perhaps it would be better if you stopped what you were doing and helped to catalog our finds instead?” He pointed the stem of his pipe toward the table. Keith followed his thrust and shook his head vigorously.
“Oh, no. I’d rather help out finding things, sir. Normally I’m good at digging things up.”
Crutchley flicked particles of dust off one arm with a decisive finger. “Yes, though more like a surgeon exposing tissues, boy, and less like a dog burying a bone.”
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
“I admire your initiative, but keep the energy for endurance, not speed. Carry on.” The professor walked away, reaching into his back pocket for a tobacco pouch and plunging the bowl of his pipe into it.
“Ooh, that was a rough ticking off,” Edwin said under his breath.
“Hah,” said Keith, going back to digging, but much more slowly. His face was invisible to the others, but his ears were red. “That was nothing. I’ve been chewed out by experts.”
As the sun began to throw longer shadows over the dig, the team called a halt to the work. Some contrast was useful, as it threw the edges of hidden objects into relief, but if the angle was too great, pebbles began to look like potsherds. Gratefully, Keith and the others creaked to their feet and exercised stiff legs and backs. Miss Sanders and the male assistant made tea inside the square tent, and distributed it to the workers in stained, chunky pottery mugs.
“From the look of these,” Mrs. Green quipped, “ceramics skills haven’t changed much in forty centuries.”
“Man hasn’t changed significantly over the ages,” Dr. Crutchley replied, settling
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