"That's more than I can tell you, Daisy. Only he
lived before the rock was made, and when it was made, it
wrapped him up in it, somehow; and now we have got him!"
"But, Captain Drummond! —"
"What is it?"
"When do you suppose this rock was made?"
"Can't just say, Daisy. Some rocks are young, and some are
old, you know. This is one of the old rocks."
"But how do you know, Captain Drummond?"
"I know by the signs," said the Captain.
"What is an old rock? how old?"
"I am sure I can't say, Daisy. Only that a young rock is apt
to be a good deal older than Adam and Eve."
"How can you tell that?"
"When you see a man's hair grey, can't you tell that he is
old?"
"But there are no grey hairs in rocks?" said Daisy.
"Yes, there are. Trilobites do just as well."
"But, I _say_," said Daisy, laughing, "how can you tell that the
rock is old? You wouldn't know that grey hairs were a sign, if
you saw them on young people."
"Pretty well, Daisy!" said the Captain, delighted to see her
interested in something again; — "pretty well! But you will
have to study something better than me, to find out about all
that. Only it is true."
"And you were not laughing?"
"Not a bit of it.
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