the mound was like a shallow saucer where it had fallen in, perhaps centuries before. Standing in the dip they looked round over the edge.
“It’s like being on the top of the whole world,” said Titty.
On one side they looked out over the sea to Scotland, southward to the Head, northward to another great cape jutting out. Far out to sea were the black specks of two fishing boats, each with a long wisp of black smoke blowing from it. Looking down to the cove where they had left the Sea Bear, they could see the top of her mast. The rest of her was hidden close under the steep shore. They could see both inlets with the rocky spit between them, and then rolling moorland stretching towards big grey hills. Here and there were lochs. They could see part of one of the lochs, that had raised hopes in Dick, and the whole of the other. Looking up the valley they could see that there was a ridge to the south of it and another to the north rising slowly towards the mountains. Along the slopes of the northern ridge they caught glimpses of a cart track that seemed to come from the head of the valley and, not far away, turned sharply into a gap on the skyline.
“Crouch down,” said Titty. “When you’re on the bottom you can’t see anything but sky. Not even the hills. If we were hiding in it, nobody could see us, unless they came here and climbed up to look in over the edge.”
The others crouched beside her. It was true. There was nothing to be seen but the great circle of blue sky overhead, from which the last white scraps of cloud had blown away.
“Buzzard,” said Dick, as a black speck swung across high over their heads.
“It’s like being in a bird’s nest,” said Titty.
“The hero could lie here laughing,” said Dorothea, “while the villains were searching the whole countryside.”
“It’s a bit like the igloo,” said Roger. “We ought to fetch Nancy and Peggy. We’ll tell them about it when we get back. They wouldn’t come anyhow,” he added. “Not when they’re in the middle of their scraping and scrubbing. I say, it’s an awful pity we haven’t got that chart to mark exactly where it is.”
“But I have got it,” said Titty. She pulled the little chart out of her knapsack, unrolled it and spread it out flat.
“Pict-house Hill,” said Roger. “Put it in with a pencil. You can ink it afterwards.”
“It’s a good name anyhow,” said Dorothea. She stood up and looked round. “That long ridge can be the Northern Rockies. Then there’s Low Ridge on the other side of the valley. It gets lower and lower till it turns into those rocks we didn’t want to hit in the fog.”
“What about Dick’s tarns?” said Titty.
“Upper and Lower,” said Dorothea, “but they’re lochs, not tarns.”
“And the lump that wouldn’t let us see them till we got up here and still doesn’t let us see the stream …”
“Burn,” said Dorothea, “not stream.”
“It would be a beck if we were at Holly Howe,” said Roger.
“That lump’s not big enough for a hill,” said Titty.
“Let’s call it the Hump,” said Roger. “It’s very camelious.”
Just putting in those few names on the chart made the valley seem almost their own.
“I wish we weren’t sailing tomorrow,” said Dorothea.
“I’m going in again,” said Roger, “to see how far I can get.”
“Look out,” said Titty. “Remember the tunnel in Kanchenjunga. More of it may cave in on the top of you.”
“All right,” said Roger, and slid down the steep side of the mound. Dick was down there, too, making a sketch of the entrance to show his father. Eager as he was to get away to the lochs, he was Professor Callum’s son and, for the moment, had to turn from birds to ancient monuments.
Titty and Dorothea were alone in the shallow saucer where the ancient roof had fallen in, and long, long ago been grown over with green turf.
“It is a most gorgeous place,” said Titty. “And wasted. Think of no one knowing about it but us.”
“Perhaps no one’s ever been here since the last of the ancient Picts died fighting to defend it as the strangers from the sea came roaring up from their boats.”
Roger, a good deal dirtier than before, came climbing over the edge. “Someone’s using it,” he said, looking round over the wild moorland as if he expected to see that someone close at hand. He held out a biscuit box. “I’ve been as far as I can, and I found this when I was feeling round where the tunnel comes to an end. It’s somebody’s provisions.”
He shook the box and they could hear something sliding about inside it. There was, alas, no doubt that the box had not been left by an ancient Pict. Much of its paper covering was still sticking to it and they could see the trademark and the name of a famous firm of Glasgow biscuit-makers.
“Oh well,” said Titty, “it can’t be helped … and it doesn’t really matter. It isn’t as if we were ever going to be here again.”
“I’m going to open it and see what’s inside,” said Roger.
“But it isn’t ours.”
“It’s treasure trove,” said Dorothea. “Roger found it. He can’t do any harm by looking at it.”
She wanted to know what was in it, and so, in spite of her scruples, did Titty.
“Of course there may be a message in it, like the one we left in the cairn.”
“Urgent, perhaps,” said Dorothea. “Think if people didn’t open bottles cast up on the shore just because the bottles weren’t theirs.”
“I’m going to open it anyhow,” said Roger.
He put the box on the ground and took the lid off. They saw at once that the thing that had been sliding about was a paper parcel.
“Provisions,” said Roger. “I thought so. Bread … no … cake of a sort …” He had opened the paper and found a heavy hunk of cake, very dark, like Christmas pudding.
“It’s not old,” said Dorothea, poking it with a careful finger. “Soft and still sticky. What’s that underneath it? I say, perhaps it’s someone writing a story.” From the bottom of the box she pulled out an ordinary school exercise book.
“French verbs more likely,” said Titty. “I had to fill a whole book of them the summer we found Swallowdale.”
“Do you think I’d better taste the cake?” asked Roger.
“Of course not,” said Titty. “Wrap it up again and put it away.”
“All right,” said Roger. “You never know. There may be poison in it.”
Dorothea had opened the exercise book. “It’s all in a foreign language,” she said.
“Let
