Besides, the
children are too young--they wouldn't understand."

"What's it like up above?" enquired the Chip languidly after a short
pause, for it was almost better to speak to the Mole, than to nobody.
"People still walk on two legs?"

"Why, of course," answered the Mole, "there's never any difference in
people, that _I_ can see. They're always exactly alike, except in
tempers."

The Chip was sitting upon a little stone-heap against one of the
pillars. He fondly imagined it was a Throne; and the Mole-mother, with
the utmost good nature, had never undeceived him.

As the last words were spoken, a lump of earth fell from the roof,
flattening out the stone-heap, and the Chip only escaped destruction
by rolling on one side, where he lay shaking with fright and calling
to the Mole-mother to help him. But the Mole had retired with her
family to a place of safety. She knew what was happening. The tomb was
being opened by a party of antiquarians, and in a few more minutes the
blue sky shone into the darkness, and the three-cornered piece of
pottery was lying wrapped in paper in the pocket of one of the
explorers.

* * * * *

When the Chip recovered himself, he found he was reclining on the
velvet floor of a large glass case full of Etruscan vases. Here was
the society he had been pining for all his life!

"What are Moles compared to this?" he said to himself, and quivered
with joy at the thought of the pleasures before him.

"How did that broken thing come into our Division?" enquired a Red
Dish with two handles.

"I can't imagine! The Director put him in just now," replied a Black
Jug. "It's not what we're accustomed to. Everything in here is
perfect."

The Chip lay for a moment, dumb with horror and astonishment.

"I belonged to a King," he gasped at last. "You can look at the name
written on me."

"You may have names written all over you, for all I care," said the
Dish. "You're a Chip, and no King can make you anything else"--and she
turned away haughtily.

"And to think that for all those years the Mole-mother was never once
rude to me!" thought the Chip. "She was a person of _real_ refinement.
Whatever shall I do if I have to be shut up with these ill-bred
people?" he groaned miserably.

"How the woodwork does creak!" said the Director as he came up to the
glass case, with a young lady to whom he was showing the treasures of
the Museum.

"That's the most recent discove