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Buried Cities


and began to explore. He found an old carpet and a bit of burned
candle. They proved that some one had lived there. What kind of a
man had he been and what kind of life had he lived—black or white or
red, robber or beggar or adventurer? Some of us were walking in the
woods one day when we saw a bone sticking out of the ground.
Luckily we had a spade, and we set to work digging. Not one moment
was the tool idle. First one bone and then another came to light and
among them a perfect horse's skull. We felt as though we had
rescued Captain Kidd's treasure, and we went home draped in
bones.
Suppose that instead of finding the bones of a horse we had
uncovered a gold-wrapped king. Suppose that instead of a deserted
cave that boy had dug into a whole buried city with theaters and mills
and shops and beautiful houses. Suppose that instead of picking up
an Indian arrowhead you could find old golden vases and crowns and
bronze swords lying in the earth. If you could be a digger and a finder
and could choose your find, would you choose a marble statue or a
buried bakeshop with bread two thousand years old still in the oven
or a king's grave filled with golden gifts? It is of such digging and such
finding that this book tells.

 
 

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