Stay here." The little troop, that followed Tom and Dick Sand, halted.

The young novice left at once and disappeared in the darkness, which was profound when the lightning did not tear the sky.
Some large drops of rain already began to fall.
"What is the matter ?" asked Mrs.Weldon, approaching the old black.
"We have perceived a camp, Mrs.Weldon," replied Tom; "a camp--or, perhaps, a village, and our captain wished to reconnoiter it before leading us to it." Mrs.Weldon was satisfied with this reply.

Three minutes after, Dick Sand was returning.
"Come! come!" he cried, in a voice which expressed his entire satisfaction.
"The camp is abandoned ?" asked Tom.
"It is not a camp," replied the young novice; "it is not a village.
They are ant-hills!" "Ant-hills!" exclaimed Cousin Benedict, whom that word aroused.
"Yes, Mr.Benedict, but ant-hills twelve feet high, at least, and in which we shall endeavor to hide ourselves." "But then," replied Cousin Benedict, "those would be ant-hills of the warlike termite or of the devouring termite.

Only those ingenious insects raise such monuments, which the greatest architects would not disown." "Whether they be termites or not, Mr.Benedict," replied Dick Sand, "we must dislodge them and take their place." "They will devour us.

They will be defending their rights." "Forward! Forward!" "But, wait now!" said Cousin Benedict again.