Chapter Seven.

Chapter Seven.Failure.There are times, probably, in the life of all when everything seems to go against one,—when plans and efforts turn out ill, or go wrong, and prospects look utterly black and hopeless. Such a time fell upon Philosopher Jack and his friends some months after their arrival at the gold-diggings.At first they were moderately successful, and at that time what amazingly golden visions they did indulge!“A carriage and pair,” soliloquised Watty Wilkins, one evening at supper, while his eyes rested complacently on the proceeds of the day’s labour—a little heap of nuggets and gold-dust, which lay on a sheet of paper beside him; “a carriage and pair, a town house in London, a country house near Bath or Tunbridge Wells, and a shooting-box in the Scotch Highlands. Such is my reasonable ambition.”“Not bad,” said Philosopher Jack, “if you throw in a salmon river near the shooting-box, and the right to wear the bonnet, plaid, and kilt at pleasure.”“Not to mention bare legs an’ rheumatiz,” remarked Simon O’Rook, who was busy with the frying-pan. “Sure, if the good Queen herself was to order me to putt on such things, I’d take off me bonnet an’ plaid in excuse that I’d be kilt entirely if she held me to it. All the same I’d obey her, for I’m a loyal subject.”“You’re a bad cook, anyhow,” said Baldwin Burr, “to burn the bacon like that.”“Burn it!” retorted O’Rook with an air of annoyance, “man alive, how can I help it? It hasn’t fat enough to slide in, much less to swim. It’s my belief that the pig as owned it was fed on mahogany-sawdust and steel filin’s. There, ait it, an’ howld yer tongue. It’s good enough for a goold-digger, anyhow.”“In regard to that little bit of ambition o’ your’n,” said Bob Corkey, as the party continued their meal, “seems to me, Watty, that you might go in for a carriage an’ four, or six, when you’re at it.”“No, Corkey, no,” returned the other, “that would be imitating the foibles of the great, which I scorn. What isyourparticular ambition, now, Mr Luke? What will you buy when you’ve dug up your fortune?”The cadaverous individual addressed, who had become thinner and more cadaverous than ever, looked up from his pewter plate, and, with a sickly smile, replied that he would give all the gold in the mines to purchase peace of mind.This was received with a look of surprise, which was followed by a burst of laughter.“Why, you ain’t an escaped convict, are you?” exclaimed Baldwin Burr.“No, I’m only an escaped man of business, escaped from the toils, and worries, and confinements of city life,” returned Mr Luke, with another sickly smile, as he returned to his tough bacon.“Well, Mr Luke, if contrast brings any blessing with it,” said Edwin Jack, “you ought to revive here, for you have splendid fresh country air—by night as well as by day—a fine laborious occupation with pick and shovel, a healthy appetite, wet feet continually, mud up to the eyes, and gold to your heart’s content. What more can you desire?”“Nothing,” replied the cadaverous man with a sigh.The state of prosperity to which Jack referred did not last. Their first “claim,” though rich, was soon worked out, and they were obliged to seek another. This turned out to be a poor one, yielding barely enough of the precious metal to enable them to pay their way, every article of clothing, tools, and food being excessively dear at the mines. Nevertheless, they worked on in hope, but what was termed their “luck” became worse and worse every day, so that at last they were obliged to run into debt.This was not difficult to do, for the principal store-keeper, Higgins by name, saw that they were respectable, trustworthy men, and felt pretty safe in giving them supplies on credit. One bad result of the debt thus incurred was that the whole tone and spirit of the party was lowered.“It’s too bad,” growled Philosopher Jack one evening, as he strode into the tent and flung down his tools; “got barely enough to keep the pot boiling.”“Better that than nothing,” remarked Watty Wilkins, who was in the act of taking off his wet boots. “Ihaven’t got as much dust as would gild the end of a bumbee’s nose. Hope some of the others have been more successful. None of them have come in yet except O’Rook, who is as unlucky as myself. He’s off to the store for something for supper.”Watty sat down before the fire which burned in front of the tent, and sadly toasted his toes.“I’ll tell you what,” said Jack, sitting down beside him, “I fear we were fools to come here.”“Not so sure of that” returned Wilkins, with a dubious shake of the head. “Every one, you know, cannot be lucky. Some succeed and some don’t. We are down just now, that’s all. The wheel of fortune is going round, and something will be sure to turn up soon.”“Nothing will turn up unless we turn it up for ourselves, you may depend upon that” said Philosopher Jack.“The captain seemed to preach a different doctrine from that last Sunday, didn’t he, when he remarked that God sometimes sends prosperity and riches to those who neither ask, work for, nor deserve them?”“True, Watty, but these, he told us, were exceptional cases; the rule being, that those who labour with body or mind acquire possessions, while those who don’t labour fall into poverty. The simple truth of that rule is partially veiled by the fact that thousands of laborious men labour unwisely, on the one hand, while, on the other hand, thousands of idle men live on the product of their forefathers’ labours. Besides, didn’t the captain also impress upon us that success is not success when it leads to evil, and failure is not failure when it results in good?”“From all which,” retorted Watty, “you bring forward strong proof that your present growling at bad luck is most unphilosophic, you cross-grained philosopher.”“Not at all,” returned Jack. “The captain’s principles may, or may not be correct. The mere statement of them does not prove that my ill luck just now is going to result in good. But the worst of it is, that during the time of our good fortune, I had been hoarding up in order to be able to send money to my poor father, and now it has all melted away.”“I’m sorry for you, Jack,” said Watty, “but that is not the worst of it to my mind, bad though it be. What grieves me most is, that my dear friend and chum, Ben Trench, is surely losing his health under the strain of anxiety and hard work. You see, he is not gifted with the gutta-percha feelings and cast-iron frame of Philosopher Jack, neither has he the happy-go-lucky spirit and tough little corpus of Watty Wilkins, so that it tells on him heavily—very heavily.”Poor Watty said this half jestingly, yet with such a look of genuine feeling that Jack forgot his own troubles for the moment.“Somethingmustbe done,” he said, gazing with a concerned look at the fire. “Did you observe that man Conway last night up at the store?”“Yes; what of him?”“He staked largely at the gaming-table last night—and won.”Little Wilkins glanced quickly in his friend’s face. “Jack,” he said, with a look and tone of earnestness quite unusual to him, “we must not think ofthat. Whatever straits we are reduced to, we must not gamble—I repeat, wemustnot!”“Why not, little man?” asked Jack, with an amused smile at what he considered an uncalled-for burst of seriousness.“Because it is dishonourable,” said Wilkins, promptly.“I don’t see it to be so,” returned Jack. “If I am willing to stake my money on a chance of black or red turning up, and the banker is willing to take his chance, why should we not do it? the chances are equal; both willing to win or to lose, nothing dishonourable in that! Or, if I bet with you and you bet with me, we both agree to accept the consequences, having a right, of course, to do what we please with our own.”“Now, Jack,” said Wilkins, “I’m not going to set up for a little preacher, or attempt to argue with a big philosopher, but I’ll tell you what my father has impressed on me about this matter. One day, when we were passing some ragged boys playing pitch-and-toss on the street, he said to me, ‘Watty, my boy, no man should gamble, because it is dishonourable. To want money that does not belong to you is greedy. To try to get it from your neighbour without working for it is mean. To risk your money in the hope of increasing it by trade, or other fair means, and so benefit yourself and others, is right; but to risk it for nothing, with the certainty of impoverishing some one else if you win, or injuring yourself if you lose, is foolish and unfeeling. The fact that some one else is willing to bet with you, only proves that you have met with one as foolish and unfeeling as yourself, and the agreement of two unfeeling fools does not result in wisdom. You will hear it said, my boy, that a man has a right to do what he will with his own. That is not true. As far as the world at large is concerned, it is, indeed, partially true, but a man may only do what God allows with what He has lent him. He is strictly accountable to God for the spending of every penny. He is accountable, also, to his wife and his children, in a certain degree, ay, and to his tradesmen, if he owes them anything. Yes, Watty, gambling for money is dishonourable, believe me!’ Now, Jack, I did, and I do believe him, from the bottom of my heart.”What Jack would have replied we cannot tell, for the conversation was interrupted at that moment by the abrupt appearance of Captain Samson. He led Polly by the hand. The child had an unwonted expression of sadness on her face.“Come into the tent. Now then, darling,” said the captain; “sit on my knee, and tell me all about it. Polly has seen something in her rambles that has made her cry,” he explained to Jack, Wilkins, and the rest of the party who chanced to come in while he was speaking. “Let us hear about it.”“Oh! it issosad,” said Polly, whimpering. “You know that good kind man Jacob Buckley, who lives up in Redman’s Gap with his sick brother Daniel, who is so fond of me; well, I went up to the Gap this afternoon, when I had done cleaning up, to sit with the sick brother for a little. I found him in great anxiety and very ill. He told me that Jacob, who had always been such a good nurse to him, is much cast down by his bad luck, and has taken to drink, and that he has lost or spent all his money, and can’t get credit at the store. He went out quite drunk last night, and has not returned since. Of course poor Daniel has had nothing to eat, for he can’t leave his bed without help, and even if he could, there isn’t a morsel of food in the house.”This story created much sympathy in the hearts of Polly’s hearers.“Well now, messmates, what’s to be done in this case?” asked Captain Samson, looking round.“Make a c’lection,” said O’Rook.“Here you are,” said Watty, taking up his cap and dropping several small nuggets into it as he handed it to Jack.The philosopher contributed a pretty large nugget, which, in his heart, he had intended to stake at the gaming-table. “Well,” said he, “we are reduced to low enough circumstances just now, but we are rich compared with poor Buckley.”The entire party at that time numbered only nine, including Polly, Bounce, and Badger, the other members of the crew of theLively Pollhaving separated soon after leaving San Francisco. But as all of them were men of generous spirit, Watty’s cap soon contained a very creditable “c’lection,” which was made up forthwith into a bag, and carried with some cooked provisions by Polly to Redman’s Gap, under the safe escort of her father and Baldwin Burr.The following evening, after supper, Philosopher Jack quietly put his last bag of gold into his pocket and went off with it to Higgins’ store. On the way up he entered into a debate with himself as to the rectitude of gambling. He seemed to himself to be composed of two persons, one of whom condemned, while the other defended gambling. But Jack had a strong will of his own. He was not to be lightly turned from a purpose, either by the disputants within him or by the arguments of his friend Wilkins. Being a good reasoner, our philosopher found that the condemner of gambling within him was rapidly getting the best of the argument; he therefore brought the matter to a point by suddenly exclaiming aloud, “Now, the question is, shall I do it?”“Don’t?” said his old, brusque, but faithful friend Conscience, with a promptitude that made him quite uncomfortable.“Or,” continued Jack slowly, “shall I go back and wait to see whether things will turn and mend?”“Do!” answered his friend at once.If Jack had put more questions, he would have received clear and emphatic replies, but he merely said, “Pooh!” and when a man says “pooh!” to conscience, he is in a very bad way indeed.At Higgins’ store gold-miners assembled to buy and sell, to talk and drink and gamble. As the necessaries of life were procured there, miners of all sorts, from the steady to the disreputable, were to be found assembled at times, but it was chiefly the latter who “hung about” the place. No notice was taken of Jack as he mingled with the crowd, except by one or two acquaintances, who gave him a passing nod of recognition.At the bar there was assembled a boisterous group, who were laughing heartily at something. Jack joined it, and found a tall, half-tipsy man offering to bet with another. When men are smitten with the gambling spirit anything that affords a “chance” will serve their turn.“See here, now,” said the tall man, looking round, “I repeat, that I’ll bet any man ten dollars—all I have in the world—that there’s not any four of the men in this store can prevent my lifting this tumbler of water to my lips.”He held out a tumbler in his right hand as he spoke, and straightened his long sinewy arm.Some of those present laughed, but one, a short, thick-set, powerful fellow, said “Done!” at once, and stepped forward.“Well, stranger,” said the tall man, with a smile, “lay hold. You ought to be strong enough to prevent me by yourself, but come on some more of you.”Three strong fellows rose and laughingly grasped the man’s arm, while several of the lookers-on began to bet on the event.“Now, hold fast,” said the tall man, giving his arm a slight but vigorous shake, which had the effect of causing those who held it to tighten their grip powerfully.“Oh! you’re not strong enough,” he added; “come, another of you!” Hereupon a fifth man rose, and laid hold of the arm amid much laughter.At that moment a big, rough miner pushed his way through the crowd and demanded to know “what was up.” On being told, he drew a bag from his pocket and exclaimed, “I’ll bet you this bag of dust if you can match it, that these five men will prevent you easily. They are strong enough to hold Goliath himself, if he were here.”“Sorry that I can’t match your bag, stranger,” replied the tall man; “I’m only game for ten dollars, and that’s already staked.”“ButIcan match it,” exclaimed Philosopher Jack, suddenly producing his bag, which was much the same size as that of the big miner.“Now, then, hold fast, but don’t break the bone if you can help it,” said the tall man, giving his arm another shake.The laugh with which this was received was changed into a roar of delight, when the tall man passed his left arm over the heads of those who held him, and with his left hand conveyed the tumbler to his lips.There was a good deal of disputation immediately, as to the justice of paying up bets on what was obviously a “sell,” but it was ruled that in this case they had been fairly lost and won, so that the big miner turned his back on his bag of gold, and, with a deep curse, left the store.Never before had Edwin Jack felt so thoroughly ashamed of himself as when he went forward and took up the two bags of gold. He did it, how ever, and, hurriedly quitting the store, returned to his tent.There was a small portion of the tent curtained off at the farther extremity, as a chamber for Polly Samson. Jack was relieved, on arriving, to find that she had retired to it for the night. He was also glad to observe that all his tired companions were asleep, with the exception of O’Rook. That worthy was busy clearing up his pots and pans for the night.“It’s late you are to-night,” remarked O’Rook with a yawn.“Yes, I’ve been to the store,” said Jack; “hand me that candle; thanks.”Turning his back on his comrade, he opened the bag which he had won, and looked in. The first thing that met his astonished gaze was the identical nugget which he had contributed the evening before to the sick miner at Redman’s Gap. There was a name inside the bag. Holding it near the candle, he read— “Buckley!”“They must have been robbed!” he muttered to himself; then, rising, said to O’Rook, “I’ve taken a fancy to go up to the Gap to see the Buckleys. Don’t mistake me for a thief when I return.”“No mistake at all if I did,” returned O’Rook, “for you’re stealin’ a march on us all just now, an’ isn’t it robbin’ yourself of your night’s rest you are? ah! then, a wilful man must have his way; good luck go with ye.”Before the sentence and the yawn that followed it were finished, Jack was on his way to the Gap. He found the elder Buckley seated on a log by his brother’s couch, with his face buried in his hands. A glance showed him that the sick man was dying. Jacob looked up quickly. His face was haggard from the combined effects of dissipation, grief, and watching. He seemed rather annoyed than pleased by Jack’s visit.“I’m grieved to see Daniel so ill,” said Jack in a low voice, which, however, roused the attention of the invalid.“Dying,” said Jacob sternly, though in a voice that was scarcely audible. “What have you got there?” he added, almost fiercely, as he observed, and at once recognised, the bag in his visitor’s hand.“Your property,” answered Jack. “Have you not missed it? I conclude, of course, that it has been stolen from you, because it was gambled away by a big rough fellow at Higgins’ store this evening.”A peculiar smile flitted for a moment across the rugged face of Jacob Buckley as he said, “No, he didn’t steal it. Not being able to leave my brother myself, I sent him with it to the store, to try his luck. It was my last throw, contained all I had, includin’ the dust and nuggets you and your comrades sent me last night.”He said this in a hard, reckless, defiant manner, then looked suddenly in Jack’s eyes, and inquired with an expression of curiosity how he came by the bag.“I won it, God forgive me,” said Jack, a deep flush of shame overspreading his face, “and I now come to return what I had no right to win.”A sound from the dying man attracted their attention at that moment.“He wants to speak to you,” said Jacob, who had stooped down to listen.Jack bent over the sick man, who said in a low whisper, with occasional pauses for breath, for his strength was almost gone.“God bless you! You’ve saved his life. He said if he lost that gold that he’d blow out his brains—and he’d have done it—he would; I know Jacob—he’d have done it. Read to me—the Word—the only true gold.”Jack looked round. Jacob had sat down, and again covered his face with his hands.“I have not my Bible with me,” said Jack, “but I can repeat passages from memory.”He began with the words, “They that trust in Him shall never be put to confusion,” when the dying man roused himself, and with a strong effort whispered, “O, sir, Idotrust in Him! Will you try to save my brother from gambling and drink. Speak!—promise!”“I will!” whispered Jack in his ear.The man’s energy left him at once, and he fell back on the pillow, from which he had partially risen, with a deep, prolonged sigh. Jacob heard it. Springing up, he fell on his knees by the bedside and seized his brother’s hand.“O Dan! dear Dan,” he exclaimed, passionately, “don’t give way like that. You’ll get well soon, an we’ll cut this infernal place altogether; we’ll go home and work with the old folk. Dan, dear Dan! speak to me—”He stopped abruptly, and rose with a stony stare of hopelessness, for Dan’s spirit had returned to God who gave it.Without a word Jacob set to work to lay out the body, and Jack quietly assisted him. Having finished, the former put the recovered bag of gold in his pocket, stuck a revolver in his belt, and took up the door key of the hut.“Come, Jacob,” said Jack, purposely taking no notice of these actions, “you’ll go home and spend the night with me. Dear Dan wants no tending now. We will return together, and see to his remains to-morrow. Come.”Buckley looked undecided.“You haven’t your flask, have you?” he asked eagerly.Jack felt in his pockets, and with something like joy found that his flask was not there. “No,” said he, “I haven’t got it. But come, Jacob, you want rest. I’ll give you something better than spirits to drink when we reach the tent. Come.”The man submitted. They went out and, locking the door, walked quickly and silently away.Many and anxious were the thoughts that chased each other through the busy brain of our hero during that dreary midnight walk. Before it was ended, he had almost resolved upon a plan of action, which was further matured while he prepared a can of strong hot coffee for poor Jacob Buckley.“This is how the matter stands,” he said to Captain Samson next morning, during a private conversation, while Buckley and the others were at breakfast in the tent. “I, who am not a teetotaller, and who last night became a gambler, have pledged myself to do what I can to save Jacob Buckley from drink and gaming. To attempt thatherewould be useless. Well, we are at our lowest ebb just now. To continue working here is equally useless. I will therefore leave you for a time, take Buckley and Wilkins with me, and go on a prospecting tour into the mountains. There it will be impossible to drink or gamble; time may cure Buckley, and perhaps we may find gold! Of course,” he added, with a sad smile, “if we do, we’ll return and let you know.”The captain approved of this plan. Jacob Buckley and Watty Wilkins at once agreed to go, and immediately after Daniel’s burial, the prospecters set out. The entire party, including Polly, convoyed them as far as Redman’s Gap, where, wishing them good-speed, they parted company. Then the three adventurers passed through the Gap, and were soon lost in the wild recesses of the mountain range.

There are times, probably, in the life of all when everything seems to go against one,—when plans and efforts turn out ill, or go wrong, and prospects look utterly black and hopeless. Such a time fell upon Philosopher Jack and his friends some months after their arrival at the gold-diggings.

At first they were moderately successful, and at that time what amazingly golden visions they did indulge!

“A carriage and pair,” soliloquised Watty Wilkins, one evening at supper, while his eyes rested complacently on the proceeds of the day’s labour—a little heap of nuggets and gold-dust, which lay on a sheet of paper beside him; “a carriage and pair, a town house in London, a country house near Bath or Tunbridge Wells, and a shooting-box in the Scotch Highlands. Such is my reasonable ambition.”

“Not bad,” said Philosopher Jack, “if you throw in a salmon river near the shooting-box, and the right to wear the bonnet, plaid, and kilt at pleasure.”

“Not to mention bare legs an’ rheumatiz,” remarked Simon O’Rook, who was busy with the frying-pan. “Sure, if the good Queen herself was to order me to putt on such things, I’d take off me bonnet an’ plaid in excuse that I’d be kilt entirely if she held me to it. All the same I’d obey her, for I’m a loyal subject.”

“You’re a bad cook, anyhow,” said Baldwin Burr, “to burn the bacon like that.”

“Burn it!” retorted O’Rook with an air of annoyance, “man alive, how can I help it? It hasn’t fat enough to slide in, much less to swim. It’s my belief that the pig as owned it was fed on mahogany-sawdust and steel filin’s. There, ait it, an’ howld yer tongue. It’s good enough for a goold-digger, anyhow.”

“In regard to that little bit of ambition o’ your’n,” said Bob Corkey, as the party continued their meal, “seems to me, Watty, that you might go in for a carriage an’ four, or six, when you’re at it.”

“No, Corkey, no,” returned the other, “that would be imitating the foibles of the great, which I scorn. What isyourparticular ambition, now, Mr Luke? What will you buy when you’ve dug up your fortune?”

The cadaverous individual addressed, who had become thinner and more cadaverous than ever, looked up from his pewter plate, and, with a sickly smile, replied that he would give all the gold in the mines to purchase peace of mind.

This was received with a look of surprise, which was followed by a burst of laughter.

“Why, you ain’t an escaped convict, are you?” exclaimed Baldwin Burr.

“No, I’m only an escaped man of business, escaped from the toils, and worries, and confinements of city life,” returned Mr Luke, with another sickly smile, as he returned to his tough bacon.

“Well, Mr Luke, if contrast brings any blessing with it,” said Edwin Jack, “you ought to revive here, for you have splendid fresh country air—by night as well as by day—a fine laborious occupation with pick and shovel, a healthy appetite, wet feet continually, mud up to the eyes, and gold to your heart’s content. What more can you desire?”

“Nothing,” replied the cadaverous man with a sigh.

The state of prosperity to which Jack referred did not last. Their first “claim,” though rich, was soon worked out, and they were obliged to seek another. This turned out to be a poor one, yielding barely enough of the precious metal to enable them to pay their way, every article of clothing, tools, and food being excessively dear at the mines. Nevertheless, they worked on in hope, but what was termed their “luck” became worse and worse every day, so that at last they were obliged to run into debt.

This was not difficult to do, for the principal store-keeper, Higgins by name, saw that they were respectable, trustworthy men, and felt pretty safe in giving them supplies on credit. One bad result of the debt thus incurred was that the whole tone and spirit of the party was lowered.

“It’s too bad,” growled Philosopher Jack one evening, as he strode into the tent and flung down his tools; “got barely enough to keep the pot boiling.”

“Better that than nothing,” remarked Watty Wilkins, who was in the act of taking off his wet boots. “Ihaven’t got as much dust as would gild the end of a bumbee’s nose. Hope some of the others have been more successful. None of them have come in yet except O’Rook, who is as unlucky as myself. He’s off to the store for something for supper.”

Watty sat down before the fire which burned in front of the tent, and sadly toasted his toes.

“I’ll tell you what,” said Jack, sitting down beside him, “I fear we were fools to come here.”

“Not so sure of that” returned Wilkins, with a dubious shake of the head. “Every one, you know, cannot be lucky. Some succeed and some don’t. We are down just now, that’s all. The wheel of fortune is going round, and something will be sure to turn up soon.”

“Nothing will turn up unless we turn it up for ourselves, you may depend upon that” said Philosopher Jack.

“The captain seemed to preach a different doctrine from that last Sunday, didn’t he, when he remarked that God sometimes sends prosperity and riches to those who neither ask, work for, nor deserve them?”

“True, Watty, but these, he told us, were exceptional cases; the rule being, that those who labour with body or mind acquire possessions, while those who don’t labour fall into poverty. The simple truth of that rule is partially veiled by the fact that thousands of laborious men labour unwisely, on the one hand, while, on the other hand, thousands of idle men live on the product of their forefathers’ labours. Besides, didn’t the captain also impress upon us that success is not success when it leads to evil, and failure is not failure when it results in good?”

“From all which,” retorted Watty, “you bring forward strong proof that your present growling at bad luck is most unphilosophic, you cross-grained philosopher.”

“Not at all,” returned Jack. “The captain’s principles may, or may not be correct. The mere statement of them does not prove that my ill luck just now is going to result in good. But the worst of it is, that during the time of our good fortune, I had been hoarding up in order to be able to send money to my poor father, and now it has all melted away.”

“I’m sorry for you, Jack,” said Watty, “but that is not the worst of it to my mind, bad though it be. What grieves me most is, that my dear friend and chum, Ben Trench, is surely losing his health under the strain of anxiety and hard work. You see, he is not gifted with the gutta-percha feelings and cast-iron frame of Philosopher Jack, neither has he the happy-go-lucky spirit and tough little corpus of Watty Wilkins, so that it tells on him heavily—very heavily.”

Poor Watty said this half jestingly, yet with such a look of genuine feeling that Jack forgot his own troubles for the moment.

“Somethingmustbe done,” he said, gazing with a concerned look at the fire. “Did you observe that man Conway last night up at the store?”

“Yes; what of him?”

“He staked largely at the gaming-table last night—and won.”

Little Wilkins glanced quickly in his friend’s face. “Jack,” he said, with a look and tone of earnestness quite unusual to him, “we must not think ofthat. Whatever straits we are reduced to, we must not gamble—I repeat, wemustnot!”

“Why not, little man?” asked Jack, with an amused smile at what he considered an uncalled-for burst of seriousness.

“Because it is dishonourable,” said Wilkins, promptly.

“I don’t see it to be so,” returned Jack. “If I am willing to stake my money on a chance of black or red turning up, and the banker is willing to take his chance, why should we not do it? the chances are equal; both willing to win or to lose, nothing dishonourable in that! Or, if I bet with you and you bet with me, we both agree to accept the consequences, having a right, of course, to do what we please with our own.”

“Now, Jack,” said Wilkins, “I’m not going to set up for a little preacher, or attempt to argue with a big philosopher, but I’ll tell you what my father has impressed on me about this matter. One day, when we were passing some ragged boys playing pitch-and-toss on the street, he said to me, ‘Watty, my boy, no man should gamble, because it is dishonourable. To want money that does not belong to you is greedy. To try to get it from your neighbour without working for it is mean. To risk your money in the hope of increasing it by trade, or other fair means, and so benefit yourself and others, is right; but to risk it for nothing, with the certainty of impoverishing some one else if you win, or injuring yourself if you lose, is foolish and unfeeling. The fact that some one else is willing to bet with you, only proves that you have met with one as foolish and unfeeling as yourself, and the agreement of two unfeeling fools does not result in wisdom. You will hear it said, my boy, that a man has a right to do what he will with his own. That is not true. As far as the world at large is concerned, it is, indeed, partially true, but a man may only do what God allows with what He has lent him. He is strictly accountable to God for the spending of every penny. He is accountable, also, to his wife and his children, in a certain degree, ay, and to his tradesmen, if he owes them anything. Yes, Watty, gambling for money is dishonourable, believe me!’ Now, Jack, I did, and I do believe him, from the bottom of my heart.”

What Jack would have replied we cannot tell, for the conversation was interrupted at that moment by the abrupt appearance of Captain Samson. He led Polly by the hand. The child had an unwonted expression of sadness on her face.

“Come into the tent. Now then, darling,” said the captain; “sit on my knee, and tell me all about it. Polly has seen something in her rambles that has made her cry,” he explained to Jack, Wilkins, and the rest of the party who chanced to come in while he was speaking. “Let us hear about it.”

“Oh! it issosad,” said Polly, whimpering. “You know that good kind man Jacob Buckley, who lives up in Redman’s Gap with his sick brother Daniel, who is so fond of me; well, I went up to the Gap this afternoon, when I had done cleaning up, to sit with the sick brother for a little. I found him in great anxiety and very ill. He told me that Jacob, who had always been such a good nurse to him, is much cast down by his bad luck, and has taken to drink, and that he has lost or spent all his money, and can’t get credit at the store. He went out quite drunk last night, and has not returned since. Of course poor Daniel has had nothing to eat, for he can’t leave his bed without help, and even if he could, there isn’t a morsel of food in the house.”

This story created much sympathy in the hearts of Polly’s hearers.

“Well now, messmates, what’s to be done in this case?” asked Captain Samson, looking round.

“Make a c’lection,” said O’Rook.

“Here you are,” said Watty, taking up his cap and dropping several small nuggets into it as he handed it to Jack.

The philosopher contributed a pretty large nugget, which, in his heart, he had intended to stake at the gaming-table. “Well,” said he, “we are reduced to low enough circumstances just now, but we are rich compared with poor Buckley.”

The entire party at that time numbered only nine, including Polly, Bounce, and Badger, the other members of the crew of theLively Pollhaving separated soon after leaving San Francisco. But as all of them were men of generous spirit, Watty’s cap soon contained a very creditable “c’lection,” which was made up forthwith into a bag, and carried with some cooked provisions by Polly to Redman’s Gap, under the safe escort of her father and Baldwin Burr.

The following evening, after supper, Philosopher Jack quietly put his last bag of gold into his pocket and went off with it to Higgins’ store. On the way up he entered into a debate with himself as to the rectitude of gambling. He seemed to himself to be composed of two persons, one of whom condemned, while the other defended gambling. But Jack had a strong will of his own. He was not to be lightly turned from a purpose, either by the disputants within him or by the arguments of his friend Wilkins. Being a good reasoner, our philosopher found that the condemner of gambling within him was rapidly getting the best of the argument; he therefore brought the matter to a point by suddenly exclaiming aloud, “Now, the question is, shall I do it?”

“Don’t?” said his old, brusque, but faithful friend Conscience, with a promptitude that made him quite uncomfortable.

“Or,” continued Jack slowly, “shall I go back and wait to see whether things will turn and mend?”

“Do!” answered his friend at once.

If Jack had put more questions, he would have received clear and emphatic replies, but he merely said, “Pooh!” and when a man says “pooh!” to conscience, he is in a very bad way indeed.

At Higgins’ store gold-miners assembled to buy and sell, to talk and drink and gamble. As the necessaries of life were procured there, miners of all sorts, from the steady to the disreputable, were to be found assembled at times, but it was chiefly the latter who “hung about” the place. No notice was taken of Jack as he mingled with the crowd, except by one or two acquaintances, who gave him a passing nod of recognition.

At the bar there was assembled a boisterous group, who were laughing heartily at something. Jack joined it, and found a tall, half-tipsy man offering to bet with another. When men are smitten with the gambling spirit anything that affords a “chance” will serve their turn.

“See here, now,” said the tall man, looking round, “I repeat, that I’ll bet any man ten dollars—all I have in the world—that there’s not any four of the men in this store can prevent my lifting this tumbler of water to my lips.”

He held out a tumbler in his right hand as he spoke, and straightened his long sinewy arm.

Some of those present laughed, but one, a short, thick-set, powerful fellow, said “Done!” at once, and stepped forward.

“Well, stranger,” said the tall man, with a smile, “lay hold. You ought to be strong enough to prevent me by yourself, but come on some more of you.”

Three strong fellows rose and laughingly grasped the man’s arm, while several of the lookers-on began to bet on the event.

“Now, hold fast,” said the tall man, giving his arm a slight but vigorous shake, which had the effect of causing those who held it to tighten their grip powerfully.

“Oh! you’re not strong enough,” he added; “come, another of you!” Hereupon a fifth man rose, and laid hold of the arm amid much laughter.

At that moment a big, rough miner pushed his way through the crowd and demanded to know “what was up.” On being told, he drew a bag from his pocket and exclaimed, “I’ll bet you this bag of dust if you can match it, that these five men will prevent you easily. They are strong enough to hold Goliath himself, if he were here.”

“Sorry that I can’t match your bag, stranger,” replied the tall man; “I’m only game for ten dollars, and that’s already staked.”

“ButIcan match it,” exclaimed Philosopher Jack, suddenly producing his bag, which was much the same size as that of the big miner.

“Now, then, hold fast, but don’t break the bone if you can help it,” said the tall man, giving his arm another shake.

The laugh with which this was received was changed into a roar of delight, when the tall man passed his left arm over the heads of those who held him, and with his left hand conveyed the tumbler to his lips.

There was a good deal of disputation immediately, as to the justice of paying up bets on what was obviously a “sell,” but it was ruled that in this case they had been fairly lost and won, so that the big miner turned his back on his bag of gold, and, with a deep curse, left the store.

Never before had Edwin Jack felt so thoroughly ashamed of himself as when he went forward and took up the two bags of gold. He did it, how ever, and, hurriedly quitting the store, returned to his tent.

There was a small portion of the tent curtained off at the farther extremity, as a chamber for Polly Samson. Jack was relieved, on arriving, to find that she had retired to it for the night. He was also glad to observe that all his tired companions were asleep, with the exception of O’Rook. That worthy was busy clearing up his pots and pans for the night.

“It’s late you are to-night,” remarked O’Rook with a yawn.

“Yes, I’ve been to the store,” said Jack; “hand me that candle; thanks.”

Turning his back on his comrade, he opened the bag which he had won, and looked in. The first thing that met his astonished gaze was the identical nugget which he had contributed the evening before to the sick miner at Redman’s Gap. There was a name inside the bag. Holding it near the candle, he read— “Buckley!”

“They must have been robbed!” he muttered to himself; then, rising, said to O’Rook, “I’ve taken a fancy to go up to the Gap to see the Buckleys. Don’t mistake me for a thief when I return.”

“No mistake at all if I did,” returned O’Rook, “for you’re stealin’ a march on us all just now, an’ isn’t it robbin’ yourself of your night’s rest you are? ah! then, a wilful man must have his way; good luck go with ye.”

Before the sentence and the yawn that followed it were finished, Jack was on his way to the Gap. He found the elder Buckley seated on a log by his brother’s couch, with his face buried in his hands. A glance showed him that the sick man was dying. Jacob looked up quickly. His face was haggard from the combined effects of dissipation, grief, and watching. He seemed rather annoyed than pleased by Jack’s visit.

“I’m grieved to see Daniel so ill,” said Jack in a low voice, which, however, roused the attention of the invalid.

“Dying,” said Jacob sternly, though in a voice that was scarcely audible. “What have you got there?” he added, almost fiercely, as he observed, and at once recognised, the bag in his visitor’s hand.

“Your property,” answered Jack. “Have you not missed it? I conclude, of course, that it has been stolen from you, because it was gambled away by a big rough fellow at Higgins’ store this evening.”

A peculiar smile flitted for a moment across the rugged face of Jacob Buckley as he said, “No, he didn’t steal it. Not being able to leave my brother myself, I sent him with it to the store, to try his luck. It was my last throw, contained all I had, includin’ the dust and nuggets you and your comrades sent me last night.”

He said this in a hard, reckless, defiant manner, then looked suddenly in Jack’s eyes, and inquired with an expression of curiosity how he came by the bag.

“I won it, God forgive me,” said Jack, a deep flush of shame overspreading his face, “and I now come to return what I had no right to win.”

A sound from the dying man attracted their attention at that moment.

“He wants to speak to you,” said Jacob, who had stooped down to listen.

Jack bent over the sick man, who said in a low whisper, with occasional pauses for breath, for his strength was almost gone.

“God bless you! You’ve saved his life. He said if he lost that gold that he’d blow out his brains—and he’d have done it—he would; I know Jacob—he’d have done it. Read to me—the Word—the only true gold.”

Jack looked round. Jacob had sat down, and again covered his face with his hands.

“I have not my Bible with me,” said Jack, “but I can repeat passages from memory.”

He began with the words, “They that trust in Him shall never be put to confusion,” when the dying man roused himself, and with a strong effort whispered, “O, sir, Idotrust in Him! Will you try to save my brother from gambling and drink. Speak!—promise!”

“I will!” whispered Jack in his ear.

The man’s energy left him at once, and he fell back on the pillow, from which he had partially risen, with a deep, prolonged sigh. Jacob heard it. Springing up, he fell on his knees by the bedside and seized his brother’s hand.

“O Dan! dear Dan,” he exclaimed, passionately, “don’t give way like that. You’ll get well soon, an we’ll cut this infernal place altogether; we’ll go home and work with the old folk. Dan, dear Dan! speak to me—”

He stopped abruptly, and rose with a stony stare of hopelessness, for Dan’s spirit had returned to God who gave it.

Without a word Jacob set to work to lay out the body, and Jack quietly assisted him. Having finished, the former put the recovered bag of gold in his pocket, stuck a revolver in his belt, and took up the door key of the hut.

“Come, Jacob,” said Jack, purposely taking no notice of these actions, “you’ll go home and spend the night with me. Dear Dan wants no tending now. We will return together, and see to his remains to-morrow. Come.”

Buckley looked undecided.

“You haven’t your flask, have you?” he asked eagerly.

Jack felt in his pockets, and with something like joy found that his flask was not there. “No,” said he, “I haven’t got it. But come, Jacob, you want rest. I’ll give you something better than spirits to drink when we reach the tent. Come.”

The man submitted. They went out and, locking the door, walked quickly and silently away.

Many and anxious were the thoughts that chased each other through the busy brain of our hero during that dreary midnight walk. Before it was ended, he had almost resolved upon a plan of action, which was further matured while he prepared a can of strong hot coffee for poor Jacob Buckley.

“This is how the matter stands,” he said to Captain Samson next morning, during a private conversation, while Buckley and the others were at breakfast in the tent. “I, who am not a teetotaller, and who last night became a gambler, have pledged myself to do what I can to save Jacob Buckley from drink and gaming. To attempt thatherewould be useless. Well, we are at our lowest ebb just now. To continue working here is equally useless. I will therefore leave you for a time, take Buckley and Wilkins with me, and go on a prospecting tour into the mountains. There it will be impossible to drink or gamble; time may cure Buckley, and perhaps we may find gold! Of course,” he added, with a sad smile, “if we do, we’ll return and let you know.”

The captain approved of this plan. Jacob Buckley and Watty Wilkins at once agreed to go, and immediately after Daniel’s burial, the prospecters set out. The entire party, including Polly, convoyed them as far as Redman’s Gap, where, wishing them good-speed, they parted company. Then the three adventurers passed through the Gap, and were soon lost in the wild recesses of the mountain range.

Chapter Eight.Success.For more than a month did the prospecting party wander among the Californian mountains in quest of gold, but found none—at least not in paying quantities.At first the trip was to each of them full of romance, interest and hope. Even Buckley began to cheer up after a few days had passed. The craving for drink began to wear off, and grief for his lost brother—whom he had truly loved—began to abate. The wild scenery through which they passed was in itself sufficient to rouse to a high pitch the enthusiasm of such youths as Philosopher Jack and Watty Wilkins, while their comrade, though not so impressionable in regard to the sublime and beautiful, was roused to sympathy by their irresistible ardour. The necessity of hunting, too, in order to obtain food, added excitement of a more stirring kind, and an occasional encounter with a grizzly bear introduced a spice of danger to which none of them objected. Their various washings of the soil and examination of river beds afforded a sufficient quantity of gold to foster hope, though not to pay expenses. Thus they progressed through many a scene of loveliness, where the hand of God had sown broadcast all the forms and hues of grace and beauty which render this world attractive; they also passed through many a savage defile and mountain gorge—dark, gloomy, almost repulsive—which served to enhance their enjoyment of the beautiful by contrast.But as the time passed by they became accustomed to the life, and therefore less appreciative. They failed, also, to find gold in larger quantities, and as the finding of gold was their highest aim, they were proportionally disappointed and downcast. Watty, indeed, kept up his spirits pretty well. He experienced the benefit of the change that had taken place in his soul that time when he was alone with God in the little boat upon the sea. He prayed in secret for light, and tried to believe that “all things work together for good to them that love God;” but his faith was weak, and the old heart of unbelief was still very strong.As for Philosopher Jack, his spirit was still engaged in rebellious warfare. He growled a good deal at his “luck,” and was heartily seconded by Buckley. In addition to this, Jack’s spirit was much troubled by his promise to Daniel Buckley on his deathbed. He shrank, with a strength of feeling that surprised himself, from speaking to Jacob about his infirmity, yet he felt the duty lying strong upon him, for he knew well that, if nothing was said, the man would certainly go back to his old habits on returning to the neighbourhood of the store where drink could be obtained.“Shall I break the ice at once?” thought Jack. “Perhaps it would be well to wait till we know each other better.”“Don’t,” said the voice of his old laconic friend.But Jack did wait, and the longer he waited the more disinclined to speak did he become. He held strongly, however, that a right promise once given should never be broken, and, under a feeling of desperation, said to himself one day, “Would it not be much better to end this matter by speaking without further delay?”“Do,” said conscience, approvingly.And Jack did, then and there, the result being that Jacob Buckley did not take it well, but told him flatly to mind his own business. Jack flushed crimson and clenched his fist; then the absurdity of attempting to knock sobriety into a man struck him, and he laughed as he said—“Well, Buckley, that is just what I am doing, for itismy business to remonstrate with a comrade when I see him give way to a habit which will result in his destruction if not abandoned.”After this Buckley allowed him to talk a little on the subject, but Jack felt the work to be very distasteful. Eventually he gave it up, consoling himself with the reflection that at all events he had brought the man away on an expedition where nothing stronger than cold water and hot tea was to be had for love or money.At last the tide turned. On the same day a piece of great good and bad fortune befell our explorers. It happened thus:—Watty Wilkins roused himself from a golden dream one morning, threw off his blanket looked up at the bush which served him and his comrades as a canopy, and yawned. It was grey dawn. There was that clear sweet light in the sky which gives sure promise of a fine day. Seeing that his companions still slept, he drew from his breast a small Testament, read a few verses, and prayed. This had been his custom ever since his deliverance by the American ship.Soon after, Jack moved his bulky frame, rolled round, threw out his arms, and yawned. The yawn awakened Buckley, who immediately followed suit—such is the force of example!“I’ll tell you what it is, mates,” said the latter, sitting up, “that twist I gave my leg yesterday troubles me a little. I shall remain in camp to-day and smoke.”“Very good,” said Jack, rising and putting the kettle on the fire with a view to breakfast. “Watty and I will go up that valley and prospect. We will expect that you’ll eat no more than your share of the provisions during our absence, and that you’ll have supper ready for us when we return.”The simple breakfast being disposed of and washed down with cans of hot tea, the two friends shouldered their guns and set off up the gorge or narrow mountain valley, near the mouth of which they had bivouacked. There was a belt of wood close to their camp; beyond that a small plain, after crossing which they entered a dense thicket, and began a toilsome march up the bed of a little mountain stream. The channel was nearly dry at the time, but the boulders, which were strewn about everywhere, showed that it was sometimes a formidable torrent.“A likely place for gold,” said Watty, with a hopeful look and tune.“We’ve tried many such likely places,” replied Jack, with a look and tone not quite so hopeful.For several miles they advanced, washing out a panful of dirt here and there, and finding a little gold-dust as usual. Mid-day arrived, and they sat down to a cold dinner, consisting of a few scraps of meat left from breakfast. Little conversation was indulged in. They were too hungry for that—perhaps too much depressed by hope deferred.“I’ll try the banks higher up,” said Jack, rising.“And I’ll try the bed of the stream lower down, just by way of opposition,” said Watty.They separated, and the latter soon found himself among the boulders, where he continued to search—actively at first, but more lazily as time passed by. Presently he came to a wild spot where the stream was overhung by bushes. He turned over a small stone. Beneath it was a hole or “pocket”. He stooped quickly, and pulled out a nugget of gold about the size of a thimble. He stooped again, and, inserting his hand, pulled at something that would not come. His heart gave a jump and appeared to get into his throat, where it apparently remained, while the blood rushed to his forehead. Another pull, and out came a mass of solid gold, about the size of his own fist! A cheer rose to his lips, but he checked it. “P’r’aps there’s more!” he said. Yes, the greedy little wretch said that! But there was no more in that pocket.Quickly turning over several more stones, he found more pockets, with nuggets of various sizes in each. In a short time his specimen pouch was pretty well lined with the precious metal.Meanwhile his friend Jack was equally successful, the chief difference between them being that the latter washed out the earth on the banks above, and found his gold in little grains and specks, but in such quantities that he felt as if his fortune were already made. Towards evening Watty hallooed and was replied to. As they walked rapidly towards the pre-arranged rendezvous, each hit on the same idea—that of deception!“Well, what luck?” asked Watty with a careless air that ill concealed the elation of his heart.“Only a little dust—nothing to speak of—at least not as compared with what some fellows get,” said Jack, whose laughing eye gave the lie direct to his melancholy tones. “See here, Watty, this is all I’ve got.”As he spoke, the hypocrite poured the glittering contents of his pouch into his tin wash-pan.“Well,whata lucky fellow you are!” said Watty, with mouth expanded. “Just look here; this is all that I have got.”He opened his bag and displayed the nuggets, with the big one in the midst!Need we say that these youths found it difficult to express their joy and astonishment? The fact was evident that they had at last discovered unusually rich ground, and they travelled back to the camp to tell their lazy comrade the good news.It was near sunset when they reached the little plain or open space at the mouth of the gorge. Here Jack turned aside to cut a stick of peculiar form, which had caught his eye on the way up, and which he meant to keep as a souvenir of their discovery and the spot. Watty sauntered slowly across the plain.He had just reached the wood on the other side, and turned to wait for his comrade, when he heard two shots in quick succession. There was nothing unusual in this, but when he heard the Philosopher utter a loud cry, he started, cocked his gun, and ran a few steps back to meet him. Next moment Jack burst from the thicket and ran across the plain at a speed that told of imminent danger. From the same thicket there also rushed a large grizzly bear, whose speed was greater than that of Jack, though it did not appear to be so.All the blood in Watty Wilkins’s body seemed to fly back to his heart, and immediately after it rushed to his brain and toes. Prompt action! no time to think! Life! death! Watty never afterwards could tell clearly what he felt or did on that tremendous occasion, but Jack could tell what he did, for he saw him do it.Going down on one knee and resting his left arm on the other, in what is known to volunteers as the Hythe position, the little youth calmly levelled his double-barrelled gun. It was charged only with small shot, and he knew that that was useless at long range, therefore he restrained himself and waited.Jack and the bear ran straight towards him.“Up, Watty, up a tree,” gasped Jack; “it’s no use—shot won’t hurt him—quick!”As he spoke he darted to the nearest tree, seized a large limb, and swung himself up among the branches. The bear passed under him, and, observing the kneeling figure in front, charged at once. When it was within three feet of him the youth let fly the contents of both barrels into the grizzly’s mouth. So true was his aim that about six inches of the barrel followed the shot as the bear rushed upon it. This saved Watty, who was violently hurled aside by the stock of his own gun, while the bear went head-over-heels, vomiting blood and rage amid smoke and dust and scattered nuggets of gold!“O Watty!” cried Jack, leaping down to the rescue with his drawn hunting-knife.But before Jack reached him, or the bear had time to recover himself, Watty was on his active legs, and sprang up a tree like a monkey. Jack caught a branch of the same tree, and by sheer strength swung himself up, but on this occasion with so little time to spare, that the bear, standing on its hind legs, touched his heel lovingly with its protruded lips, as he drew himself out of reach.We need scarcely say it was with beating and thankful hearts that the two friends looked down from their perch of safety on the formidable and bloody foe who kept pawing at the foot of the tree and looking hungrily up at them.“What a mercy that the grizzly can’t climb!” panted Watty, who had not yet recovered breath.“But he can watch and keep us here all night,” said Jack, “and we have no means of killing him. I fell and lost my gun in escaping, and yours is doubled up. We’re in for a night of it, my boy. Why didn’t you do what I bade you, get up into the tree with your gun when you saw us coming, and then we could have shot him at our leisure?”“Why didn’t you lend me your own cool head and clear brain,” retorted the other, “and then we might have done something of the sort? But surely the shot I gave him must tell in the long-run.”“Pooh!” said Jack, “it’s not much more to him than an over-dose of mustard would be to a cat. However, we’ve nothing for it but to wait. Perhaps Buckley may have heard our shots.”In this conjecture Jack was right. The gold-miner was enjoying an unsocial cup of tea at the time, and fortunately heard the distant shots and shouting. Buckley was a prompt man. Loading his double barrel with ball as he ran, he suddenly made his appearance on the field, saw at a glance how matters stood, and, being a good shot, put two balls in the bear’s carcass with deadly effect. Grizzly bears are, however, remarkably tenacious of life. This one at once turned on his new foe, who, getting behind a tree, re-loaded as quickly as possible. As the animal passed he put two more balls in its heart and killed it.“Splendidly done!” cried Jack, leaping to the ground and shaking Buckley by the hand, as he thanked him for his timely aid. Almost in the same breath he told of their unexpected good fortune.“Now, then,” he added, “we’ll cut off the claws of this fellow as a trophy, and then to camp and supper.”“Stop a bit, not so fast,” said Wilkins, who had descended the tree and was sitting on the ground with a most lugubrious countenance; “we must gather up my nuggets before going. Besides, it strikes me there’s something wrong with my ankle.”This was found to be too true. In scrambling into the tree Watty had sprained his ankle badly, and in jumping down had made it so much worse that he could not bear to put even his toe to the ground. He was compelled, therefore, to accept the services of Jacob Buckley, who carried him into camp on his back.Despite his sufferings poor Wilkins rejoiced that night with his comrades at their good fortune, and it was long before he or they could cease to talk over future plans and take needful rest. At length Buckley rolled himself in his blanket, and lay down.“Poor fellow,” said Jack, seeing Watty wince a little, “does it hurt much?”“Yes, rather, but I’ll be all right to-morrow. Now, Jack, I’m going to sleep. Do me a favour before turning in. Just make a pile of my nuggets close to my pillow here, with the big one on the top. There, thanks.”“What a covetous little wretch you are becoming!” said Jack with a laugh, as he lay down. “Have a care, Watty, that you don’t become a miser.”Watty made no reply, but in the night, when he thought his comrades were asleep, he was overheard muttering in a low tone: “Yes, my dear old dad, you shall have them every one, big ’un as well; at least I’ll send you every rap that they will fetch. Not that you need it. You’re rich enough as it is, but this will show you, perhaps, that my first thoughts after my first luck were of you.”A long sigh followed the remark. Looking up soon afterwards, Jack saw that Watty was sound asleep, with the point of his nose reposing on the big nugget.The poor lad’s idea of a sprain was not quite correct. Instead of being “all right” next day, he found himself to be hopelessly lame, and was unable to move from the camp for a couple of weeks. During that period Jack and Buckley went forth to the new diggings every morning, and returned at night laden with gold, so that in a short time they had gathered as much as they could conveniently carry. Then they resolved to go for their comrades and return with them to continue their labours at what they named Grizzly Bear Gulch. As Watty was still unable to walk without great pain, they made a sort of litter of a blanket between two poles. In this contrivance they carried him, with their gold and their other belongings, back to the old diggings.But here, on arrival, they found a wonderfully altered state of affairs.“Immediately after you left,” said Captain Samson, over a cup of tea, while Polly, who presided, listened with sympathetic delight, “we bought a new claim or two, without much hope, however, of bettering our circumstances. One of these claims we bought for you, Jack, with part of the money you left in our charge, one for Buckley, and another for Wilkins. Well, these claims all turned out splendidly, and we’ve been makin’ our fortunes ever since! As you were off prospecting, as much for our benefit as your own, we agreed that it was the least we could do to work a little for you, so we gave your claims a rummage day about, and thus we’ve made your fortunes too, or part of ’em anyhow. We’ve bin sendin’ home bills of exchange too, and knowin’ your wish to help your father, Jack, I took upon me to send a small sum to him with your love. I did right didn’t I?”“Right!” exclaimed Jack, seizing the captain’s hand and squeezing it; “need you ask? I’m only sorry I didn’t dig the gold out with my own hand, and enclose the bill in my own letter. How much did you send?”“Only 1000 pounds,” replied the captain.“Come, don’t joke. I’m anxious to know, because he was very hard up when I left.”“More shame to you for leaving him, my young Philosopher,” returned the captain, “but I tell you the truth; I sent him 1000 pounds sterling, and I believe there’s as much lyin’ here in gold-dust and nuggets that belongs to you. We’ve all done equally well, I’m thankful to say, and, better than that, good fortune seems to have brought us good health. Even Ben Trench there is able to dig like the rest of us.”“Not exactly,” said Ben with a pleasant smile at his old friend Wilkins, “but I’m very well, thank God, and able to do a little. I wouldn’t have been what I am now but for the care of this dear little nurse.”Polly was quite pleased with the compliment, and made a liberal offer to supply more tea to any of the company who might want it.All this, and a great deal more, was corroborated by every one present; moreover, it was told them that there were many other claims which had suddenly turned out well, and that the whole aspect of these diggings had changed for the better.“And what of Mr Luke?” asked Jack, glancing round the circle.“Gone,” said the captain, “nobody knows where. He became gloomier and stranger than ever after you went away, and one morning announced his intention to leave us and return to San Francisco. He left, and has not been heard of since. Bob Corkey, too, is off. He got restless and disappointed at our bad luck, said he’d go away prospectin’ on his own hook, and went.”“Good luck go with him! He was altogether too fond of argifying,” said Simon O’Rook.“He’s not the only one,” remarked Baldwin Burr, with a grin.After much consideration and consultation, it was agreed that, in the meantime, the party should remain where they were, and, when their claims began to fail, go off to Grizzly Bear Gulch.This being decided, Jacob Buckley rose, saying that he was going to visit his friends at Higgins’ store. Jack followed him. When they were alone he said—“Now, Jacob, don’t go, there’s a good fellow. You saved my life, I may say, and that gives me a claim on you.” Buckley frowned, but said nothing. “If you get among your old mates,” continued Jack, “and begin totaste, you’re a gone man. God has been very good to us. He has made us rich. We may live to be useful, Jacob. Think of it.”A half sarcastic smile flitted over Buckley’s face as he said, “You didn’t use to be a preacher, Jack; what makes you now so keen to save me, as you call it?”“I’m not sure what it is that makes me anxious now,” replied Jack, “but I know what made me anxious at first. It was your poor brother Daniel. That night he died, when he whispered in my ear, it was to make me promise to save you from drink and gambling if I could.”“Did he?” exclaimed the miner vehemently, as he clenched his hands. “O Dan! dear Dan, did you say that at such an hour? Look you, Jack,” he added, turning sharply round, “I’ll not go near the store, and if Iamsaved it is Dan who has done it, mind that—not you.”And Buckley held to his word. For months after that he worked with the Samson party—as it was styled—and never once tasted a drop of anything stronger than tea.During all that time success continued, but Philosopher Jack felt in his heart that no success in digging up gold was at all comparable to that of working with the Lord in helping a brother-sinner to turn from the error of his ways.As their wealth accumulated, the different members of the party converted it into cash, sent some of it home to the assistance of friends or relatives, and the rest for safe and remunerative investment. For the latter purpose they committed it to the care of Mr Wilkins senior, who, being a trusty and well-known man of business, was left to his own discretion in the selection of investments. Simon O’Rook, however, did not follow the example of his friends. He preferred to keep his gold in his own hands, and, as its bulk increased, stowed it away in a small chest, which, for further security, he buried in a hole in the tent directly under his own sleeping corner.In addition to his remittances to Mr Wilkins for investment, Edwin Jack sent large sums regularly to his father, for the purpose not only of getting him out of his difficulties, but of enabling him to extend his farming operations. The wheel of fortune, however, had turned upwards with Jack senior, and he did not require these sums, as we shall see.While things were going on thus prosperously at the other side of the world, a wonderful change—intimately connected with gold—took place in the “Old Country”, which materially altered the circumstances of some of those personages whose names have figured in our tale.

For more than a month did the prospecting party wander among the Californian mountains in quest of gold, but found none—at least not in paying quantities.

At first the trip was to each of them full of romance, interest and hope. Even Buckley began to cheer up after a few days had passed. The craving for drink began to wear off, and grief for his lost brother—whom he had truly loved—began to abate. The wild scenery through which they passed was in itself sufficient to rouse to a high pitch the enthusiasm of such youths as Philosopher Jack and Watty Wilkins, while their comrade, though not so impressionable in regard to the sublime and beautiful, was roused to sympathy by their irresistible ardour. The necessity of hunting, too, in order to obtain food, added excitement of a more stirring kind, and an occasional encounter with a grizzly bear introduced a spice of danger to which none of them objected. Their various washings of the soil and examination of river beds afforded a sufficient quantity of gold to foster hope, though not to pay expenses. Thus they progressed through many a scene of loveliness, where the hand of God had sown broadcast all the forms and hues of grace and beauty which render this world attractive; they also passed through many a savage defile and mountain gorge—dark, gloomy, almost repulsive—which served to enhance their enjoyment of the beautiful by contrast.

But as the time passed by they became accustomed to the life, and therefore less appreciative. They failed, also, to find gold in larger quantities, and as the finding of gold was their highest aim, they were proportionally disappointed and downcast. Watty, indeed, kept up his spirits pretty well. He experienced the benefit of the change that had taken place in his soul that time when he was alone with God in the little boat upon the sea. He prayed in secret for light, and tried to believe that “all things work together for good to them that love God;” but his faith was weak, and the old heart of unbelief was still very strong.

As for Philosopher Jack, his spirit was still engaged in rebellious warfare. He growled a good deal at his “luck,” and was heartily seconded by Buckley. In addition to this, Jack’s spirit was much troubled by his promise to Daniel Buckley on his deathbed. He shrank, with a strength of feeling that surprised himself, from speaking to Jacob about his infirmity, yet he felt the duty lying strong upon him, for he knew well that, if nothing was said, the man would certainly go back to his old habits on returning to the neighbourhood of the store where drink could be obtained.

“Shall I break the ice at once?” thought Jack. “Perhaps it would be well to wait till we know each other better.”

“Don’t,” said the voice of his old laconic friend.

But Jack did wait, and the longer he waited the more disinclined to speak did he become. He held strongly, however, that a right promise once given should never be broken, and, under a feeling of desperation, said to himself one day, “Would it not be much better to end this matter by speaking without further delay?”

“Do,” said conscience, approvingly.

And Jack did, then and there, the result being that Jacob Buckley did not take it well, but told him flatly to mind his own business. Jack flushed crimson and clenched his fist; then the absurdity of attempting to knock sobriety into a man struck him, and he laughed as he said—

“Well, Buckley, that is just what I am doing, for itismy business to remonstrate with a comrade when I see him give way to a habit which will result in his destruction if not abandoned.”

After this Buckley allowed him to talk a little on the subject, but Jack felt the work to be very distasteful. Eventually he gave it up, consoling himself with the reflection that at all events he had brought the man away on an expedition where nothing stronger than cold water and hot tea was to be had for love or money.

At last the tide turned. On the same day a piece of great good and bad fortune befell our explorers. It happened thus:—

Watty Wilkins roused himself from a golden dream one morning, threw off his blanket looked up at the bush which served him and his comrades as a canopy, and yawned. It was grey dawn. There was that clear sweet light in the sky which gives sure promise of a fine day. Seeing that his companions still slept, he drew from his breast a small Testament, read a few verses, and prayed. This had been his custom ever since his deliverance by the American ship.

Soon after, Jack moved his bulky frame, rolled round, threw out his arms, and yawned. The yawn awakened Buckley, who immediately followed suit—such is the force of example!

“I’ll tell you what it is, mates,” said the latter, sitting up, “that twist I gave my leg yesterday troubles me a little. I shall remain in camp to-day and smoke.”

“Very good,” said Jack, rising and putting the kettle on the fire with a view to breakfast. “Watty and I will go up that valley and prospect. We will expect that you’ll eat no more than your share of the provisions during our absence, and that you’ll have supper ready for us when we return.”

The simple breakfast being disposed of and washed down with cans of hot tea, the two friends shouldered their guns and set off up the gorge or narrow mountain valley, near the mouth of which they had bivouacked. There was a belt of wood close to their camp; beyond that a small plain, after crossing which they entered a dense thicket, and began a toilsome march up the bed of a little mountain stream. The channel was nearly dry at the time, but the boulders, which were strewn about everywhere, showed that it was sometimes a formidable torrent.

“A likely place for gold,” said Watty, with a hopeful look and tune.

“We’ve tried many such likely places,” replied Jack, with a look and tone not quite so hopeful.

For several miles they advanced, washing out a panful of dirt here and there, and finding a little gold-dust as usual. Mid-day arrived, and they sat down to a cold dinner, consisting of a few scraps of meat left from breakfast. Little conversation was indulged in. They were too hungry for that—perhaps too much depressed by hope deferred.

“I’ll try the banks higher up,” said Jack, rising.

“And I’ll try the bed of the stream lower down, just by way of opposition,” said Watty.

They separated, and the latter soon found himself among the boulders, where he continued to search—actively at first, but more lazily as time passed by. Presently he came to a wild spot where the stream was overhung by bushes. He turned over a small stone. Beneath it was a hole or “pocket”. He stooped quickly, and pulled out a nugget of gold about the size of a thimble. He stooped again, and, inserting his hand, pulled at something that would not come. His heart gave a jump and appeared to get into his throat, where it apparently remained, while the blood rushed to his forehead. Another pull, and out came a mass of solid gold, about the size of his own fist! A cheer rose to his lips, but he checked it. “P’r’aps there’s more!” he said. Yes, the greedy little wretch said that! But there was no more in that pocket.

Quickly turning over several more stones, he found more pockets, with nuggets of various sizes in each. In a short time his specimen pouch was pretty well lined with the precious metal.

Meanwhile his friend Jack was equally successful, the chief difference between them being that the latter washed out the earth on the banks above, and found his gold in little grains and specks, but in such quantities that he felt as if his fortune were already made. Towards evening Watty hallooed and was replied to. As they walked rapidly towards the pre-arranged rendezvous, each hit on the same idea—that of deception!

“Well, what luck?” asked Watty with a careless air that ill concealed the elation of his heart.

“Only a little dust—nothing to speak of—at least not as compared with what some fellows get,” said Jack, whose laughing eye gave the lie direct to his melancholy tones. “See here, Watty, this is all I’ve got.”

As he spoke, the hypocrite poured the glittering contents of his pouch into his tin wash-pan.

“Well,whata lucky fellow you are!” said Watty, with mouth expanded. “Just look here; this is all that I have got.”

He opened his bag and displayed the nuggets, with the big one in the midst!

Need we say that these youths found it difficult to express their joy and astonishment? The fact was evident that they had at last discovered unusually rich ground, and they travelled back to the camp to tell their lazy comrade the good news.

It was near sunset when they reached the little plain or open space at the mouth of the gorge. Here Jack turned aside to cut a stick of peculiar form, which had caught his eye on the way up, and which he meant to keep as a souvenir of their discovery and the spot. Watty sauntered slowly across the plain.

He had just reached the wood on the other side, and turned to wait for his comrade, when he heard two shots in quick succession. There was nothing unusual in this, but when he heard the Philosopher utter a loud cry, he started, cocked his gun, and ran a few steps back to meet him. Next moment Jack burst from the thicket and ran across the plain at a speed that told of imminent danger. From the same thicket there also rushed a large grizzly bear, whose speed was greater than that of Jack, though it did not appear to be so.

All the blood in Watty Wilkins’s body seemed to fly back to his heart, and immediately after it rushed to his brain and toes. Prompt action! no time to think! Life! death! Watty never afterwards could tell clearly what he felt or did on that tremendous occasion, but Jack could tell what he did, for he saw him do it.

Going down on one knee and resting his left arm on the other, in what is known to volunteers as the Hythe position, the little youth calmly levelled his double-barrelled gun. It was charged only with small shot, and he knew that that was useless at long range, therefore he restrained himself and waited.

Jack and the bear ran straight towards him.

“Up, Watty, up a tree,” gasped Jack; “it’s no use—shot won’t hurt him—quick!”

As he spoke he darted to the nearest tree, seized a large limb, and swung himself up among the branches. The bear passed under him, and, observing the kneeling figure in front, charged at once. When it was within three feet of him the youth let fly the contents of both barrels into the grizzly’s mouth. So true was his aim that about six inches of the barrel followed the shot as the bear rushed upon it. This saved Watty, who was violently hurled aside by the stock of his own gun, while the bear went head-over-heels, vomiting blood and rage amid smoke and dust and scattered nuggets of gold!

“O Watty!” cried Jack, leaping down to the rescue with his drawn hunting-knife.

But before Jack reached him, or the bear had time to recover himself, Watty was on his active legs, and sprang up a tree like a monkey. Jack caught a branch of the same tree, and by sheer strength swung himself up, but on this occasion with so little time to spare, that the bear, standing on its hind legs, touched his heel lovingly with its protruded lips, as he drew himself out of reach.

We need scarcely say it was with beating and thankful hearts that the two friends looked down from their perch of safety on the formidable and bloody foe who kept pawing at the foot of the tree and looking hungrily up at them.

“What a mercy that the grizzly can’t climb!” panted Watty, who had not yet recovered breath.

“But he can watch and keep us here all night,” said Jack, “and we have no means of killing him. I fell and lost my gun in escaping, and yours is doubled up. We’re in for a night of it, my boy. Why didn’t you do what I bade you, get up into the tree with your gun when you saw us coming, and then we could have shot him at our leisure?”

“Why didn’t you lend me your own cool head and clear brain,” retorted the other, “and then we might have done something of the sort? But surely the shot I gave him must tell in the long-run.”

“Pooh!” said Jack, “it’s not much more to him than an over-dose of mustard would be to a cat. However, we’ve nothing for it but to wait. Perhaps Buckley may have heard our shots.”

In this conjecture Jack was right. The gold-miner was enjoying an unsocial cup of tea at the time, and fortunately heard the distant shots and shouting. Buckley was a prompt man. Loading his double barrel with ball as he ran, he suddenly made his appearance on the field, saw at a glance how matters stood, and, being a good shot, put two balls in the bear’s carcass with deadly effect. Grizzly bears are, however, remarkably tenacious of life. This one at once turned on his new foe, who, getting behind a tree, re-loaded as quickly as possible. As the animal passed he put two more balls in its heart and killed it.

“Splendidly done!” cried Jack, leaping to the ground and shaking Buckley by the hand, as he thanked him for his timely aid. Almost in the same breath he told of their unexpected good fortune.

“Now, then,” he added, “we’ll cut off the claws of this fellow as a trophy, and then to camp and supper.”

“Stop a bit, not so fast,” said Wilkins, who had descended the tree and was sitting on the ground with a most lugubrious countenance; “we must gather up my nuggets before going. Besides, it strikes me there’s something wrong with my ankle.”

This was found to be too true. In scrambling into the tree Watty had sprained his ankle badly, and in jumping down had made it so much worse that he could not bear to put even his toe to the ground. He was compelled, therefore, to accept the services of Jacob Buckley, who carried him into camp on his back.

Despite his sufferings poor Wilkins rejoiced that night with his comrades at their good fortune, and it was long before he or they could cease to talk over future plans and take needful rest. At length Buckley rolled himself in his blanket, and lay down.

“Poor fellow,” said Jack, seeing Watty wince a little, “does it hurt much?”

“Yes, rather, but I’ll be all right to-morrow. Now, Jack, I’m going to sleep. Do me a favour before turning in. Just make a pile of my nuggets close to my pillow here, with the big one on the top. There, thanks.”

“What a covetous little wretch you are becoming!” said Jack with a laugh, as he lay down. “Have a care, Watty, that you don’t become a miser.”

Watty made no reply, but in the night, when he thought his comrades were asleep, he was overheard muttering in a low tone: “Yes, my dear old dad, you shall have them every one, big ’un as well; at least I’ll send you every rap that they will fetch. Not that you need it. You’re rich enough as it is, but this will show you, perhaps, that my first thoughts after my first luck were of you.”

A long sigh followed the remark. Looking up soon afterwards, Jack saw that Watty was sound asleep, with the point of his nose reposing on the big nugget.

The poor lad’s idea of a sprain was not quite correct. Instead of being “all right” next day, he found himself to be hopelessly lame, and was unable to move from the camp for a couple of weeks. During that period Jack and Buckley went forth to the new diggings every morning, and returned at night laden with gold, so that in a short time they had gathered as much as they could conveniently carry. Then they resolved to go for their comrades and return with them to continue their labours at what they named Grizzly Bear Gulch. As Watty was still unable to walk without great pain, they made a sort of litter of a blanket between two poles. In this contrivance they carried him, with their gold and their other belongings, back to the old diggings.

But here, on arrival, they found a wonderfully altered state of affairs.

“Immediately after you left,” said Captain Samson, over a cup of tea, while Polly, who presided, listened with sympathetic delight, “we bought a new claim or two, without much hope, however, of bettering our circumstances. One of these claims we bought for you, Jack, with part of the money you left in our charge, one for Buckley, and another for Wilkins. Well, these claims all turned out splendidly, and we’ve been makin’ our fortunes ever since! As you were off prospecting, as much for our benefit as your own, we agreed that it was the least we could do to work a little for you, so we gave your claims a rummage day about, and thus we’ve made your fortunes too, or part of ’em anyhow. We’ve bin sendin’ home bills of exchange too, and knowin’ your wish to help your father, Jack, I took upon me to send a small sum to him with your love. I did right didn’t I?”

“Right!” exclaimed Jack, seizing the captain’s hand and squeezing it; “need you ask? I’m only sorry I didn’t dig the gold out with my own hand, and enclose the bill in my own letter. How much did you send?”

“Only 1000 pounds,” replied the captain.

“Come, don’t joke. I’m anxious to know, because he was very hard up when I left.”

“More shame to you for leaving him, my young Philosopher,” returned the captain, “but I tell you the truth; I sent him 1000 pounds sterling, and I believe there’s as much lyin’ here in gold-dust and nuggets that belongs to you. We’ve all done equally well, I’m thankful to say, and, better than that, good fortune seems to have brought us good health. Even Ben Trench there is able to dig like the rest of us.”

“Not exactly,” said Ben with a pleasant smile at his old friend Wilkins, “but I’m very well, thank God, and able to do a little. I wouldn’t have been what I am now but for the care of this dear little nurse.”

Polly was quite pleased with the compliment, and made a liberal offer to supply more tea to any of the company who might want it.

All this, and a great deal more, was corroborated by every one present; moreover, it was told them that there were many other claims which had suddenly turned out well, and that the whole aspect of these diggings had changed for the better.

“And what of Mr Luke?” asked Jack, glancing round the circle.

“Gone,” said the captain, “nobody knows where. He became gloomier and stranger than ever after you went away, and one morning announced his intention to leave us and return to San Francisco. He left, and has not been heard of since. Bob Corkey, too, is off. He got restless and disappointed at our bad luck, said he’d go away prospectin’ on his own hook, and went.”

“Good luck go with him! He was altogether too fond of argifying,” said Simon O’Rook.

“He’s not the only one,” remarked Baldwin Burr, with a grin.

After much consideration and consultation, it was agreed that, in the meantime, the party should remain where they were, and, when their claims began to fail, go off to Grizzly Bear Gulch.

This being decided, Jacob Buckley rose, saying that he was going to visit his friends at Higgins’ store. Jack followed him. When they were alone he said—

“Now, Jacob, don’t go, there’s a good fellow. You saved my life, I may say, and that gives me a claim on you.” Buckley frowned, but said nothing. “If you get among your old mates,” continued Jack, “and begin totaste, you’re a gone man. God has been very good to us. He has made us rich. We may live to be useful, Jacob. Think of it.”

A half sarcastic smile flitted over Buckley’s face as he said, “You didn’t use to be a preacher, Jack; what makes you now so keen to save me, as you call it?”

“I’m not sure what it is that makes me anxious now,” replied Jack, “but I know what made me anxious at first. It was your poor brother Daniel. That night he died, when he whispered in my ear, it was to make me promise to save you from drink and gambling if I could.”

“Did he?” exclaimed the miner vehemently, as he clenched his hands. “O Dan! dear Dan, did you say that at such an hour? Look you, Jack,” he added, turning sharply round, “I’ll not go near the store, and if Iamsaved it is Dan who has done it, mind that—not you.”

And Buckley held to his word. For months after that he worked with the Samson party—as it was styled—and never once tasted a drop of anything stronger than tea.

During all that time success continued, but Philosopher Jack felt in his heart that no success in digging up gold was at all comparable to that of working with the Lord in helping a brother-sinner to turn from the error of his ways.

As their wealth accumulated, the different members of the party converted it into cash, sent some of it home to the assistance of friends or relatives, and the rest for safe and remunerative investment. For the latter purpose they committed it to the care of Mr Wilkins senior, who, being a trusty and well-known man of business, was left to his own discretion in the selection of investments. Simon O’Rook, however, did not follow the example of his friends. He preferred to keep his gold in his own hands, and, as its bulk increased, stowed it away in a small chest, which, for further security, he buried in a hole in the tent directly under his own sleeping corner.

In addition to his remittances to Mr Wilkins for investment, Edwin Jack sent large sums regularly to his father, for the purpose not only of getting him out of his difficulties, but of enabling him to extend his farming operations. The wheel of fortune, however, had turned upwards with Jack senior, and he did not require these sums, as we shall see.

While things were going on thus prosperously at the other side of the world, a wonderful change—intimately connected with gold—took place in the “Old Country”, which materially altered the circumstances of some of those personages whose names have figured in our tale.

Chapter Nine.Treats of a Catastrophe and Ruin.We return once again to the cottage on the Scottish Border. It is not quite so lowly as it was when first introduced to our readers. Although not extensively changed, there is a certain air of comfort and prosperity about it which gives it much the appearance of a dirty boy who has had his face washed and a suit of new clothes put on. It has been whitewashed and partially re-roofed. A trellis-work porch with creepers has been added. The garden bears marks of improvement, and in one part there are four little plots of flower-beds, so conspicuously different in culture and general treatment as to suggest the idea of four different gardens. Inside of Mr Jack’s abode there are also many changes for the better. The rooms are better furnished than they used to be. Several cheap oleograph copies of beautiful pictures adorn the walls, and the best parlour, which used to be kept in a condition of deadly propriety for state occasions only, is evidently used in the course of daily life. A brand-new piano, with a pretty little girl seated before it, suggests advancing refinement, and the expression of the child’s face, while she attempts the impossible task of stretching an octave, indicates despair. There is another little girl seated at a table darning with all the energy of a Martha-like character. She is engaged upon a pair of juvenile socks, which have apparently been worn last by a cart-horse. Books and drawing materials and mathematical instruments on the table betoken progressive education, and, in short, everything without and within the cottage tells, as we have said, of prosperity.It must not be supposed, however, that all this is due to Philosopher Jack’s good fortune and liberality. When the first letter came from California, telling of the safety of our hero and his friends, Mr Jack was indeed in great material distress, but there was no money in that letter. It was despatched from San Francisco at the time of the arrival of the party, along with letters from the other members, informing their various relations of their deliverance. But if the letter had contained tons of the finest gold it could not have added a feather’s weight to the joy of the old couple, who, like the widow of Nain or the sisters of Bethany, had received their dear lost one direct from the Lord, and, as it were, back from the dead. Then, after an interval, came Captain Samson’s letter enclosing the bill for 1000 pounds, and explaining why Philosopher Jack himself did not write with it. Mr Jack senior thankfully used two hundred of the amount, which was quite sufficient to extricate him from all his difficulties. The balance he put into the nearest bank, to be kept for “the dear boy” on his return.From that date God sent prosperity to the cottage on the Border. Flocks increased, seasons were no longer bad, grey mares no longer broke their legs, turnips throve, and, in short, everything went well, so that, instead of using the large sums of money which his son frequently sent him, Mr Jack placed them all to “dear Teddie’s” credit in the bank.In one of these letters, his son mentioned that he had sent still larger sums to the care of Mr Wilkins senior, to be invested for himself. Mr Jack, having consulted with his faithful spouse, drew his son’s gifts from the local bank, went to the city of Blankow, called on Mr Wilkins, and desired him to invest the money in the same concern with the rest. Mr Wilkins purchased shares with it in the Blankow Bank, telling Mr Jack that he considered it one of the best and safest investments in Scotland, that he had invested in it all the funds sent home by his own son and his comrades, and that he himself was a large shareholder. Thus did Mr Jack senior act with all the gifts that Jack junior sent him, saying to Mr Wilkins on each occasion, that, though the dear boy meant him to use the money, he had no occasion to do so, as the Lord had prospered him of late, and given him enough and to spare.We re-introduce the Jack family to the reader at breakfast-time, not because that was the only noteworthy period of their day, but because it was the time when the parents of the family were wont to talk over the daily plans.Mr Jack went to the door and shouted, “Breakfast!” in a sonorous tone. Instantly the octave was abandoned and the socks were dropped. Next moment there was a sound like the charge of a squadron of cavalry. It was the boys coming from the farm-yard. The extreme noise of the family’s entry was rendered fully apparent by the appalling calm which ensued when Mr Jack opened the family Bible, and cleared his throat to begin worship. At breakfast the noise began again, but it was more subdued, appetite being too strong for it. In five minutes Dobbin was up to the eyes in a treacle-piece. This was a good opportunity for conversation.“Maggie,” said Mr Jack, looking up from his plate, “the last bill sent us from the diggin’s by the dear boy makes the sum in my hands up to two thousand pounds. I’ll go to town to-day and give it to Mr Wilkins to invest as usual.”“Very weel, John,” replied Mrs Jack, “but it’s been runnin’ in my mind that it’s no that safe to pit a’ yer eggs in the same basket. Maybe ye might invest it in somethin’ else.”“That’s true, Maggie, we shall see,” said Mr Jack, who was at all times a man of few words. As Dobbin became at the moment clamorous for more food, nothing further was said on the subject.Arrived in the city, John Jack made his way to the office of Mr Wilkins. He found that gentleman with an expression of unwonted resignation on his countenance.“I’ve brought you more money to invest, Mr Wilkins,” said John Jack, sitting down after wiping his forehead, and producing a fat pocketbook; “I thought of doin’ it in the old way, but my wife and I have been thinkin’ that perhaps it might be wise to put some of the eggs in another basket.”A very sad and peculiar smile flitted for a moment across Mr Wilkins’s face. “It is plain that you have not heard of the disastrous failure,” he said. “Only last week the Blankow Bank suspended payment, and if the reports as to its liabilities be true, the result will be widespread ruin throughout the country.”“Do you mean to say that the Bank has failed?” asked Mr Jack, anxiously.“Yes, and it is feared that most of the shareholders will be ruined. I am one, you know.”“Willyoube ruined, Mr Wilkins?”“I fear that the first call will be more than I can meet. I trust that you are not personally involved.”“No, thank God, I’m not,” said Mr Jack, with an increasingly anxious look. “But tell me, Mr Wilkins—for I don’t understand banking matters very well—is my son’s money all gone?”“All,” returned Mr Wilkins sadly, “and all that my own son has invested, as well as that of his friends!”“How was it, sir,” asked Mr Jack, in a reproachful tone, “that you were so confident in recommending the investment?”“Because I thoroughly believed in the soundness of the bank and in the character of its directors. Investing my own funds so largely in its stock proves how I trusted it. But I was mistaken. It is a mystery which I cannot solve. Perhaps, when the examination of its affairs is completed, light may be thrown on the subject. I hope that no more of your relations or friends have stock in it?”“None that I know of, except indeed my poor friend Mrs Niven, who was my son’s landlady when he was at college. I’ll go and inquire about her.”Mr Jack thrust the fat pocket-book into a breast pocket, and buttoned up his coat with the determined air of a man who means to keep hold of what he has got.Bidding Mr Wilkins good-bye, he walked rapidly to Mrs Niven’s house and pulled the bell rather violently. The summons was promptly answered by Peggy, who ushered him into a little parlour, where he was quickly joined by Mrs Niven.“I’m very sorry to hear the bad news,” said Mr Jack, pressing the good woman’s hand in sympathy.“What bad news?” asked Mrs Niven, in alarm.“The bank, you know,” said Mr Jack. “It’s very hard, and to think that you’re in the same boat with my dear boy, whose fortune is wrecked—”A little scream stopped him, for the word “wrecked” struck a chill to the poor woman’s heart.“What! wrecked again?” she cried, “on a bank, in a boat? Oh! don’t tell me, don’t tell me that he’s drownded.”“No, no,” cried Mr Jack, hastening to relieve her mind, while he supported her to a chair; “no, no; my dear boy’s all right. It’s the Blankow Bank I mean that’s gone to wreck, you know, and all his money with it, and yours too, I suppose, for you told me you had shares in that bank.”“Oh! as to that,” said Mrs Niven, greatly relieved, “you may mak’ yer mind easy. I’ve got nae shares intilt noo. I selt them through Mr Black lang syne. He’s a douce, clever, honest felly—a relation o’ mine, and a first-rate business man; but for him I’d hae lost my siller, nae doot. He warned me that the bank was nae a right ane, and advised me to sell.”Mr Jack thought that such a clever, disinterested man-of-business, and a relation of Mrs Niven, might be just the person to give him sound advice at this crisis; he therefore obtained his address, and, after a long chat with the good woman, who would have listened for hours to the adventures of her “bonny lodger,” took his departure, and in due time stood at the door of the dirty little office.The dirty clerk ushered the visitor into the presence of Mr Black, whose presence was more repulsive than it used to be. He received Mr Jack rather gruffly, and asked his business.“Oho! an eccentric character, gruff but honest,” thought Mr Jack, who began by saying that he had just come from visiting his friend Mrs Niven.Mr Black’s face grew almost green at the name, and his brows scowled fiercely.“Strange look for an honest, kindly man,” thought Mr Jack, “but we must never judge from the outward appearance;” then he said aloud, “I went to see her about that bank failure—”“Ha!” growled Mr Black, interrupting, “but for that woman, and that—” he checked himself and said, “but you came here on some matter of business, I suppose. Will you state it?”“A very eccentric man indeed, remarkably so, for a kindly, honest man,” thought Mr Jack; but he only said, “I came here to consult you about the investment of two thousand pounds—”“Oh! indeed,” said Mr Black, in quite an altered tone, as he rose and politely offered his visitor a chair.“But,” continued Mr Jack, rebuttoning his greatcoat which he had partly opened, “but, sir, I have changed my mind, and bid you good-day.”So saying, he went out, leaving Mr Black standing at the door in stupid amazement and his dirty clerk agonising with suppressed laughter behind his desk. Mr Black had been groaning and growling all the day at the thoughts of the ruin which had overtaken him—thoughts which were embittered by the knowledge that he had drawn it on himself through the instrumentality of Mrs Niven. The climax of Mr Jack’s visit did not tend to restore him. Recovering from his amazement, and observing the condition of the clerk, he suddenly hurled the cash-book at him. Cleverly dodging it, the dirty little creature bolted from the office, and banged the door behind him.Meanwhile Mr Jack cashed his last bill of exchange, returned home, and presented his wife with a bag of gold, which she deposited in the darkest recesses of the great family chest.“That bank gives no interest,” said John Jack, with a quiet chuckle, as he superintended the deposit, “but we shall always have the interest of knowing that it is there.”Long afterwards Mr Wilkins sought to combat Mr Jack’s objection to invest in another Scotch bank. “This disaster,” he said, “ought not to be called a bankfailure; it is a bankrobberycommitted by its own directors, as has been clearly proved, and no more touches the credit of Scotch banks in general than the failure of a commercial house, through the dishonesty of its principals, affects the other commercial houses of the kingdom.”“It may be as you say, sir,” replied John Jack, gravely, “an’ if it was my own money I might act on your advice. But I intend to take care of what’s left of the dear boy’s money myself.”So saying, the stout farmer threw his shepherd’s plaid over his shoulder, and went off to his cottage on the Border.But we must pass from this subject. Space forbids our going deeper into it, or touching on the terrible consequences of dishonesty coupled with unlimited liability. Fortunes were wrecked; the rich and the poor, the innocent and guilty, the confiding and the ignorant as well as the knowing and wise, fell in the general crash. Many homes were desolated, and many hearts were broken. May we not believe, also, that many hearts were purified in passing through the furnace of affliction!“All is not evil that brings sorrow,” may be quite as true as the proverb, “All is not gold that glitters.” Some have been glad to say with the Psalmist, “It was good for me that I was afflicted.” This truth, however, while it might strengthen some hearts to bear, did not lighten the load to be borne. The great Bank failure produced heart-rending and widespread distress. It also called forth deep and general sympathy.Out among the mountain gorges of California the gold-hunters knew nothing of all this for many a day, and our adventurers continued to dig, and wash, and pile up the superstructure of their fortunes, all ignorant of the event which had crumbled away the entire foundations.At last there came a day when these fortunate gold-miners cried, “Hold! enough!” an unwonted cry—not often uttered by human beings.Standing beside the camp fire one evening, while some of the party were cooking and others were arranging things inside the tent Captain Samson looked around him with an unusually heavy sigh.“It’s a grand country, and I’ll be sorry to leave it,” he said.“Troth, and so will meself,” responded O’Rook.It was indeed a grand country. They had lately changed the position of their tent to an elevated plateau near a huge mass of rock where a little mountain stream fell conveniently into a small basin. From this spot they could see the valley where it widened into a plain, and again narrowed as it entered the gloomy defile of the mountains, whose tops mingled magnificently with the clouds.“You see, my lads,” continued the captain, “it’s of no use goin’ on wastin’ our lives here, diggin’ away like navvies, when we’ve got more gold than we know what to do with. Besides, I’m not sure that we ain’t gettin’ into a covetous frame of mind, and if we go on devotin’ our lives to the gettin’ of gold that we don’t need, it’s not unlikely that it may be taken away from us. Moreover, many a man has dug his grave in California and bin buried, so to speak, in gold-dust, which is a fate that no sensible man ought to court—a fate, let me add, that seems to await Ben Trench if he continues at this sort o’ thing much longer. And, lastly, it’s not fair that my Polly should spend her prime in acting the part of cook and mender of old clothes to a set of rough miners. For all of which reasons I vote that we now break up our partnership, pack up the gold-dust that we’ve got, and return home.”To this speech Polly Samson replied, promptly, that nothing pleased her more than to be a cook and mender of old clothes to rough miners, and that she was willing to continue in that capacity as long as her father chose. Philosopher Jack also declared himself willing to remain, but added that he was equally willing to leave if the rest of the firm should decide to do so, as he was quite content with the fortune that had been sent him. Simon O’Rook, however, did not at first agree to the proposal.“It’s rich enough that I am already, no doubt,” he said, “but sure, there’s no harm in bein’ richer. I may be able to kape me carriage an’ pair at present, but why shudn’t I kape me town house an’ country house an’ me carriage an four, if I can?”“Because we won’t stay to keep you company,” answered Watty Wilkins, “and surely you wouldn’t have the heart to remain here digging holes by yourself? Besides, my friend Ben is bound to go home. The work is evidently too hard for him, and he’s so fond of gold that he won’t give up digging.”“Ah! Watty,” returned Ben with a sad smile, “you know it is not my fondness for gold that makes me dig. But I can’t bear to be a burden on you, and you know well enough that what I do accomplish does little more than enable me to pay my expenses. Besides, a little digging does me good. It occupies my mind and exercises my muscles, an’ prevents moping. Doesn’t it, Polly?”In this estimate of his case Ben Trench was wrong. The labour which he undertook and the exposure to damp, despite the remonstrances of his companions, were too much for a constitution already weakened by disease. It was plain to every one—even to himself—that a change was necessary. He therefore gladly agreed to the captain’s proposal.Baldwin Burr, however, dissented. He did not, indeed, object to the dissolution of the partnership of Samson and Company, but he refused to quit the gold-fields, saying that he had no one in the Old Country whom he cared for, and that he meant to settle in California.It was finally agreed that the captain, Philosopher Jack, Watty Wilkins, Ben Trench, Simon O’Rook, and Polly should return home, while Baldwin Burr and Jacob Buckley should enter into a new partnership and remain at the fields.Although, as we have said, most of our adventurers had sent their gold home in the form of bills of exchange for investment, they all had goodly sums on hand in dust and nuggets—the result of their more recent labours—for which strong boxes were made at Higgins’s store. Simon O’Rook, in particular,—who, as we have said, did not send home any of his gold,—had made such a huge “pile” that several strong boxes were required to hold all his wealth. The packing of these treasure-chests occupied but a short time. Each man cut his name on the lid of his box inside, and printed it outside, and nailed and roped it tight, and took every means to make it secure. Then, mounting their mules and travelling in company with a trader and a considerable party of miners, they returned to San Francisco, having previously secured berths in a ship which was about to sail for EnglandviaCape Horn.Baldwin Burr and Buckley convoyed them a day’s journey on the way.“I’m sorry you’re goin’, Miss Polly,” said Baldwin, riding up alongside of our little heroine, who ambled along on a glossy black mule.“I amnotsorry that we’re going,” replied Polly, “but I’m sorry—very sorry—that we are leaving you behind us, Baldwin. You’re such a dear old goose, and I’m so fond of teaching you. I don’t know how I shall be able to get on without you.”“Yes, that’s it, Miss Polly,” returned the bluff seaman, with a look of perplexity. “You’re so cram full of knowledge, an’ I’m sitch an empty cask, that it’s bin quite a pleasure to let you run over into me, so to speak.”“Come, Baldwin, don’t joke,” said Polly, with a quick glance.“I’m far from jokin’, Miss Polly,” returned the seaman; “I’m in downright earnest. An’ then, to lose Philosopher Jack on the selfsame day. It comes hard on an old salt. The way that young man has strove to drive jogriffy, an’ ’rithmetic, an navigation into my head is wonderful; an’ all in vain too! It’s a’most broke his heart—to say nothin’ of my own. It’s quite clear that I’ll never make a good seaman. Howsever, it’s a comfort to know that I’ve got edication enough for a landsman—ain’t it, Miss Polly?”Polly laughed, and admitted that that was indeed a consoling reflection.While these two were conversing thus, Jack and Jacob Buckley were riding together in the rear of the party. They had been talking as if under some sort of restraint. At last Jack turned to his companion with a kind, straightforward look.“It’s of no use, Buckley, my beating about the bush longer. This is likely to be the last time that you and I shall meet on earth, and I can’t part without saying how anxious I am that you should persevere in the course of temperance which you have begun.”“Thank you, Jack, thank you,” said the miner heartily, “for the interest you take in me. I do intend to persevere.”“I know that, Jacob, I know it; but I want you to believe that you have no chance of success unless you first become a follower of Jesus Christ. He is theonlySaviour from sin. Your resolutions, without Him, cannot succeed. I have found that out, and I want you to believe it, Jacob.”“Idobelieve it,” said the miner earnestly. “Dear Dan used to tell me that—often—often. Dear Dan!”“Now,” added Jack, “we shall have to part soon. There is another thing I want to mention. There is a bag of gold with my name on it, worth some few hundred pounds, more or less. I want you to accept it, for I know that you have not been so successful as we have during our short—”“But I won’t take it, Jack,” interrupted Buckley.“Yes you will, Jacob, from an old friend and comrade. It may tide you over a difficulty, who knows? Luck does not always last, as the saying goes.”Still Buckley shook his head.“Well, then,” continued Jack, “you can’t help yourself, for I’ve left the bag under your own pillow in the tent!”Buckley’s reply was checked by a shout from Captain Samson. They had reached the parting point—a clump of trees on an eminence that overlooked a long stretch of undulating park-like region. Here they dismounted to shake hands and say farewell. Little was said at the time, but moistened eyes and the long grasp of hard muscular hands told something of feelings to which the lips could give no utterance.The party could see that knoll for miles after leaving it, and whenever Polly reined up and looked back, she saw the sturdy forms of Baldwin Burr and Jacob Buckley waving a kerchief or a hat, standing side by side and gazing after them. At last they appeared like mere specks on the landscape, and the knoll itself finally faded from their view.At San Francisco they found their vessel, theRainbow, a large full-rigged ship, ready for sea. Embarking with their boxes of gold-dust they bade farewell to the golden shore, where so many young and vigorous men have landed in hopeful enthusiasm, to meet, too often, with disappointment, if not with death.Our friends, being among the fortunate few, left it with joy.TheRainbowshook out her sails to a favouring breeze, and, sweeping out upon the great Pacific, was soon bowling along the western coast of South America, in the direction of Cape Horn.

We return once again to the cottage on the Scottish Border. It is not quite so lowly as it was when first introduced to our readers. Although not extensively changed, there is a certain air of comfort and prosperity about it which gives it much the appearance of a dirty boy who has had his face washed and a suit of new clothes put on. It has been whitewashed and partially re-roofed. A trellis-work porch with creepers has been added. The garden bears marks of improvement, and in one part there are four little plots of flower-beds, so conspicuously different in culture and general treatment as to suggest the idea of four different gardens. Inside of Mr Jack’s abode there are also many changes for the better. The rooms are better furnished than they used to be. Several cheap oleograph copies of beautiful pictures adorn the walls, and the best parlour, which used to be kept in a condition of deadly propriety for state occasions only, is evidently used in the course of daily life. A brand-new piano, with a pretty little girl seated before it, suggests advancing refinement, and the expression of the child’s face, while she attempts the impossible task of stretching an octave, indicates despair. There is another little girl seated at a table darning with all the energy of a Martha-like character. She is engaged upon a pair of juvenile socks, which have apparently been worn last by a cart-horse. Books and drawing materials and mathematical instruments on the table betoken progressive education, and, in short, everything without and within the cottage tells, as we have said, of prosperity.

It must not be supposed, however, that all this is due to Philosopher Jack’s good fortune and liberality. When the first letter came from California, telling of the safety of our hero and his friends, Mr Jack was indeed in great material distress, but there was no money in that letter. It was despatched from San Francisco at the time of the arrival of the party, along with letters from the other members, informing their various relations of their deliverance. But if the letter had contained tons of the finest gold it could not have added a feather’s weight to the joy of the old couple, who, like the widow of Nain or the sisters of Bethany, had received their dear lost one direct from the Lord, and, as it were, back from the dead. Then, after an interval, came Captain Samson’s letter enclosing the bill for 1000 pounds, and explaining why Philosopher Jack himself did not write with it. Mr Jack senior thankfully used two hundred of the amount, which was quite sufficient to extricate him from all his difficulties. The balance he put into the nearest bank, to be kept for “the dear boy” on his return.

From that date God sent prosperity to the cottage on the Border. Flocks increased, seasons were no longer bad, grey mares no longer broke their legs, turnips throve, and, in short, everything went well, so that, instead of using the large sums of money which his son frequently sent him, Mr Jack placed them all to “dear Teddie’s” credit in the bank.

In one of these letters, his son mentioned that he had sent still larger sums to the care of Mr Wilkins senior, to be invested for himself. Mr Jack, having consulted with his faithful spouse, drew his son’s gifts from the local bank, went to the city of Blankow, called on Mr Wilkins, and desired him to invest the money in the same concern with the rest. Mr Wilkins purchased shares with it in the Blankow Bank, telling Mr Jack that he considered it one of the best and safest investments in Scotland, that he had invested in it all the funds sent home by his own son and his comrades, and that he himself was a large shareholder. Thus did Mr Jack senior act with all the gifts that Jack junior sent him, saying to Mr Wilkins on each occasion, that, though the dear boy meant him to use the money, he had no occasion to do so, as the Lord had prospered him of late, and given him enough and to spare.

We re-introduce the Jack family to the reader at breakfast-time, not because that was the only noteworthy period of their day, but because it was the time when the parents of the family were wont to talk over the daily plans.

Mr Jack went to the door and shouted, “Breakfast!” in a sonorous tone. Instantly the octave was abandoned and the socks were dropped. Next moment there was a sound like the charge of a squadron of cavalry. It was the boys coming from the farm-yard. The extreme noise of the family’s entry was rendered fully apparent by the appalling calm which ensued when Mr Jack opened the family Bible, and cleared his throat to begin worship. At breakfast the noise began again, but it was more subdued, appetite being too strong for it. In five minutes Dobbin was up to the eyes in a treacle-piece. This was a good opportunity for conversation.

“Maggie,” said Mr Jack, looking up from his plate, “the last bill sent us from the diggin’s by the dear boy makes the sum in my hands up to two thousand pounds. I’ll go to town to-day and give it to Mr Wilkins to invest as usual.”

“Very weel, John,” replied Mrs Jack, “but it’s been runnin’ in my mind that it’s no that safe to pit a’ yer eggs in the same basket. Maybe ye might invest it in somethin’ else.”

“That’s true, Maggie, we shall see,” said Mr Jack, who was at all times a man of few words. As Dobbin became at the moment clamorous for more food, nothing further was said on the subject.

Arrived in the city, John Jack made his way to the office of Mr Wilkins. He found that gentleman with an expression of unwonted resignation on his countenance.

“I’ve brought you more money to invest, Mr Wilkins,” said John Jack, sitting down after wiping his forehead, and producing a fat pocketbook; “I thought of doin’ it in the old way, but my wife and I have been thinkin’ that perhaps it might be wise to put some of the eggs in another basket.”

A very sad and peculiar smile flitted for a moment across Mr Wilkins’s face. “It is plain that you have not heard of the disastrous failure,” he said. “Only last week the Blankow Bank suspended payment, and if the reports as to its liabilities be true, the result will be widespread ruin throughout the country.”

“Do you mean to say that the Bank has failed?” asked Mr Jack, anxiously.

“Yes, and it is feared that most of the shareholders will be ruined. I am one, you know.”

“Willyoube ruined, Mr Wilkins?”

“I fear that the first call will be more than I can meet. I trust that you are not personally involved.”

“No, thank God, I’m not,” said Mr Jack, with an increasingly anxious look. “But tell me, Mr Wilkins—for I don’t understand banking matters very well—is my son’s money all gone?”

“All,” returned Mr Wilkins sadly, “and all that my own son has invested, as well as that of his friends!”

“How was it, sir,” asked Mr Jack, in a reproachful tone, “that you were so confident in recommending the investment?”

“Because I thoroughly believed in the soundness of the bank and in the character of its directors. Investing my own funds so largely in its stock proves how I trusted it. But I was mistaken. It is a mystery which I cannot solve. Perhaps, when the examination of its affairs is completed, light may be thrown on the subject. I hope that no more of your relations or friends have stock in it?”

“None that I know of, except indeed my poor friend Mrs Niven, who was my son’s landlady when he was at college. I’ll go and inquire about her.”

Mr Jack thrust the fat pocket-book into a breast pocket, and buttoned up his coat with the determined air of a man who means to keep hold of what he has got.

Bidding Mr Wilkins good-bye, he walked rapidly to Mrs Niven’s house and pulled the bell rather violently. The summons was promptly answered by Peggy, who ushered him into a little parlour, where he was quickly joined by Mrs Niven.

“I’m very sorry to hear the bad news,” said Mr Jack, pressing the good woman’s hand in sympathy.

“What bad news?” asked Mrs Niven, in alarm.

“The bank, you know,” said Mr Jack. “It’s very hard, and to think that you’re in the same boat with my dear boy, whose fortune is wrecked—”

A little scream stopped him, for the word “wrecked” struck a chill to the poor woman’s heart.

“What! wrecked again?” she cried, “on a bank, in a boat? Oh! don’t tell me, don’t tell me that he’s drownded.”

“No, no,” cried Mr Jack, hastening to relieve her mind, while he supported her to a chair; “no, no; my dear boy’s all right. It’s the Blankow Bank I mean that’s gone to wreck, you know, and all his money with it, and yours too, I suppose, for you told me you had shares in that bank.”

“Oh! as to that,” said Mrs Niven, greatly relieved, “you may mak’ yer mind easy. I’ve got nae shares intilt noo. I selt them through Mr Black lang syne. He’s a douce, clever, honest felly—a relation o’ mine, and a first-rate business man; but for him I’d hae lost my siller, nae doot. He warned me that the bank was nae a right ane, and advised me to sell.”

Mr Jack thought that such a clever, disinterested man-of-business, and a relation of Mrs Niven, might be just the person to give him sound advice at this crisis; he therefore obtained his address, and, after a long chat with the good woman, who would have listened for hours to the adventures of her “bonny lodger,” took his departure, and in due time stood at the door of the dirty little office.

The dirty clerk ushered the visitor into the presence of Mr Black, whose presence was more repulsive than it used to be. He received Mr Jack rather gruffly, and asked his business.

“Oho! an eccentric character, gruff but honest,” thought Mr Jack, who began by saying that he had just come from visiting his friend Mrs Niven.

Mr Black’s face grew almost green at the name, and his brows scowled fiercely.

“Strange look for an honest, kindly man,” thought Mr Jack, “but we must never judge from the outward appearance;” then he said aloud, “I went to see her about that bank failure—”

“Ha!” growled Mr Black, interrupting, “but for that woman, and that—” he checked himself and said, “but you came here on some matter of business, I suppose. Will you state it?”

“A very eccentric man indeed, remarkably so, for a kindly, honest man,” thought Mr Jack; but he only said, “I came here to consult you about the investment of two thousand pounds—”

“Oh! indeed,” said Mr Black, in quite an altered tone, as he rose and politely offered his visitor a chair.

“But,” continued Mr Jack, rebuttoning his greatcoat which he had partly opened, “but, sir, I have changed my mind, and bid you good-day.”

So saying, he went out, leaving Mr Black standing at the door in stupid amazement and his dirty clerk agonising with suppressed laughter behind his desk. Mr Black had been groaning and growling all the day at the thoughts of the ruin which had overtaken him—thoughts which were embittered by the knowledge that he had drawn it on himself through the instrumentality of Mrs Niven. The climax of Mr Jack’s visit did not tend to restore him. Recovering from his amazement, and observing the condition of the clerk, he suddenly hurled the cash-book at him. Cleverly dodging it, the dirty little creature bolted from the office, and banged the door behind him.

Meanwhile Mr Jack cashed his last bill of exchange, returned home, and presented his wife with a bag of gold, which she deposited in the darkest recesses of the great family chest.

“That bank gives no interest,” said John Jack, with a quiet chuckle, as he superintended the deposit, “but we shall always have the interest of knowing that it is there.”

Long afterwards Mr Wilkins sought to combat Mr Jack’s objection to invest in another Scotch bank. “This disaster,” he said, “ought not to be called a bankfailure; it is a bankrobberycommitted by its own directors, as has been clearly proved, and no more touches the credit of Scotch banks in general than the failure of a commercial house, through the dishonesty of its principals, affects the other commercial houses of the kingdom.”

“It may be as you say, sir,” replied John Jack, gravely, “an’ if it was my own money I might act on your advice. But I intend to take care of what’s left of the dear boy’s money myself.”

So saying, the stout farmer threw his shepherd’s plaid over his shoulder, and went off to his cottage on the Border.

But we must pass from this subject. Space forbids our going deeper into it, or touching on the terrible consequences of dishonesty coupled with unlimited liability. Fortunes were wrecked; the rich and the poor, the innocent and guilty, the confiding and the ignorant as well as the knowing and wise, fell in the general crash. Many homes were desolated, and many hearts were broken. May we not believe, also, that many hearts were purified in passing through the furnace of affliction!

“All is not evil that brings sorrow,” may be quite as true as the proverb, “All is not gold that glitters.” Some have been glad to say with the Psalmist, “It was good for me that I was afflicted.” This truth, however, while it might strengthen some hearts to bear, did not lighten the load to be borne. The great Bank failure produced heart-rending and widespread distress. It also called forth deep and general sympathy.

Out among the mountain gorges of California the gold-hunters knew nothing of all this for many a day, and our adventurers continued to dig, and wash, and pile up the superstructure of their fortunes, all ignorant of the event which had crumbled away the entire foundations.

At last there came a day when these fortunate gold-miners cried, “Hold! enough!” an unwonted cry—not often uttered by human beings.

Standing beside the camp fire one evening, while some of the party were cooking and others were arranging things inside the tent Captain Samson looked around him with an unusually heavy sigh.

“It’s a grand country, and I’ll be sorry to leave it,” he said.

“Troth, and so will meself,” responded O’Rook.

It was indeed a grand country. They had lately changed the position of their tent to an elevated plateau near a huge mass of rock where a little mountain stream fell conveniently into a small basin. From this spot they could see the valley where it widened into a plain, and again narrowed as it entered the gloomy defile of the mountains, whose tops mingled magnificently with the clouds.

“You see, my lads,” continued the captain, “it’s of no use goin’ on wastin’ our lives here, diggin’ away like navvies, when we’ve got more gold than we know what to do with. Besides, I’m not sure that we ain’t gettin’ into a covetous frame of mind, and if we go on devotin’ our lives to the gettin’ of gold that we don’t need, it’s not unlikely that it may be taken away from us. Moreover, many a man has dug his grave in California and bin buried, so to speak, in gold-dust, which is a fate that no sensible man ought to court—a fate, let me add, that seems to await Ben Trench if he continues at this sort o’ thing much longer. And, lastly, it’s not fair that my Polly should spend her prime in acting the part of cook and mender of old clothes to a set of rough miners. For all of which reasons I vote that we now break up our partnership, pack up the gold-dust that we’ve got, and return home.”

To this speech Polly Samson replied, promptly, that nothing pleased her more than to be a cook and mender of old clothes to rough miners, and that she was willing to continue in that capacity as long as her father chose. Philosopher Jack also declared himself willing to remain, but added that he was equally willing to leave if the rest of the firm should decide to do so, as he was quite content with the fortune that had been sent him. Simon O’Rook, however, did not at first agree to the proposal.

“It’s rich enough that I am already, no doubt,” he said, “but sure, there’s no harm in bein’ richer. I may be able to kape me carriage an’ pair at present, but why shudn’t I kape me town house an’ country house an’ me carriage an four, if I can?”

“Because we won’t stay to keep you company,” answered Watty Wilkins, “and surely you wouldn’t have the heart to remain here digging holes by yourself? Besides, my friend Ben is bound to go home. The work is evidently too hard for him, and he’s so fond of gold that he won’t give up digging.”

“Ah! Watty,” returned Ben with a sad smile, “you know it is not my fondness for gold that makes me dig. But I can’t bear to be a burden on you, and you know well enough that what I do accomplish does little more than enable me to pay my expenses. Besides, a little digging does me good. It occupies my mind and exercises my muscles, an’ prevents moping. Doesn’t it, Polly?”

In this estimate of his case Ben Trench was wrong. The labour which he undertook and the exposure to damp, despite the remonstrances of his companions, were too much for a constitution already weakened by disease. It was plain to every one—even to himself—that a change was necessary. He therefore gladly agreed to the captain’s proposal.

Baldwin Burr, however, dissented. He did not, indeed, object to the dissolution of the partnership of Samson and Company, but he refused to quit the gold-fields, saying that he had no one in the Old Country whom he cared for, and that he meant to settle in California.

It was finally agreed that the captain, Philosopher Jack, Watty Wilkins, Ben Trench, Simon O’Rook, and Polly should return home, while Baldwin Burr and Jacob Buckley should enter into a new partnership and remain at the fields.

Although, as we have said, most of our adventurers had sent their gold home in the form of bills of exchange for investment, they all had goodly sums on hand in dust and nuggets—the result of their more recent labours—for which strong boxes were made at Higgins’s store. Simon O’Rook, in particular,—who, as we have said, did not send home any of his gold,—had made such a huge “pile” that several strong boxes were required to hold all his wealth. The packing of these treasure-chests occupied but a short time. Each man cut his name on the lid of his box inside, and printed it outside, and nailed and roped it tight, and took every means to make it secure. Then, mounting their mules and travelling in company with a trader and a considerable party of miners, they returned to San Francisco, having previously secured berths in a ship which was about to sail for EnglandviaCape Horn.

Baldwin Burr and Buckley convoyed them a day’s journey on the way.

“I’m sorry you’re goin’, Miss Polly,” said Baldwin, riding up alongside of our little heroine, who ambled along on a glossy black mule.

“I amnotsorry that we’re going,” replied Polly, “but I’m sorry—very sorry—that we are leaving you behind us, Baldwin. You’re such a dear old goose, and I’m so fond of teaching you. I don’t know how I shall be able to get on without you.”

“Yes, that’s it, Miss Polly,” returned the bluff seaman, with a look of perplexity. “You’re so cram full of knowledge, an’ I’m sitch an empty cask, that it’s bin quite a pleasure to let you run over into me, so to speak.”

“Come, Baldwin, don’t joke,” said Polly, with a quick glance.

“I’m far from jokin’, Miss Polly,” returned the seaman; “I’m in downright earnest. An’ then, to lose Philosopher Jack on the selfsame day. It comes hard on an old salt. The way that young man has strove to drive jogriffy, an’ ’rithmetic, an navigation into my head is wonderful; an’ all in vain too! It’s a’most broke his heart—to say nothin’ of my own. It’s quite clear that I’ll never make a good seaman. Howsever, it’s a comfort to know that I’ve got edication enough for a landsman—ain’t it, Miss Polly?”

Polly laughed, and admitted that that was indeed a consoling reflection.

While these two were conversing thus, Jack and Jacob Buckley were riding together in the rear of the party. They had been talking as if under some sort of restraint. At last Jack turned to his companion with a kind, straightforward look.

“It’s of no use, Buckley, my beating about the bush longer. This is likely to be the last time that you and I shall meet on earth, and I can’t part without saying how anxious I am that you should persevere in the course of temperance which you have begun.”

“Thank you, Jack, thank you,” said the miner heartily, “for the interest you take in me. I do intend to persevere.”

“I know that, Jacob, I know it; but I want you to believe that you have no chance of success unless you first become a follower of Jesus Christ. He is theonlySaviour from sin. Your resolutions, without Him, cannot succeed. I have found that out, and I want you to believe it, Jacob.”

“Idobelieve it,” said the miner earnestly. “Dear Dan used to tell me that—often—often. Dear Dan!”

“Now,” added Jack, “we shall have to part soon. There is another thing I want to mention. There is a bag of gold with my name on it, worth some few hundred pounds, more or less. I want you to accept it, for I know that you have not been so successful as we have during our short—”

“But I won’t take it, Jack,” interrupted Buckley.

“Yes you will, Jacob, from an old friend and comrade. It may tide you over a difficulty, who knows? Luck does not always last, as the saying goes.”

Still Buckley shook his head.

“Well, then,” continued Jack, “you can’t help yourself, for I’ve left the bag under your own pillow in the tent!”

Buckley’s reply was checked by a shout from Captain Samson. They had reached the parting point—a clump of trees on an eminence that overlooked a long stretch of undulating park-like region. Here they dismounted to shake hands and say farewell. Little was said at the time, but moistened eyes and the long grasp of hard muscular hands told something of feelings to which the lips could give no utterance.

The party could see that knoll for miles after leaving it, and whenever Polly reined up and looked back, she saw the sturdy forms of Baldwin Burr and Jacob Buckley waving a kerchief or a hat, standing side by side and gazing after them. At last they appeared like mere specks on the landscape, and the knoll itself finally faded from their view.

At San Francisco they found their vessel, theRainbow, a large full-rigged ship, ready for sea. Embarking with their boxes of gold-dust they bade farewell to the golden shore, where so many young and vigorous men have landed in hopeful enthusiasm, to meet, too often, with disappointment, if not with death.

Our friends, being among the fortunate few, left it with joy.

TheRainbowshook out her sails to a favouring breeze, and, sweeping out upon the great Pacific, was soon bowling along the western coast of South America, in the direction of Cape Horn.

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