Then came a day when there was nowhere else to 

 try. Among the lounging diggers at their week-end 

 deals he stood apart too shy, too proud to tell the 

 truth ; too conscious of it to trust his voice ; too 

 hungry to smile as if he did not care ! And then a 

 man in muddy moleskins, with grave face, brown 

 beard, and soft blue eyes, came over to him, saying 

 straight : " Boy, you come along o' me ! " And he 

 went. 



It was work hard work. But the joy of it ! 

 Shovelling in the- icy water, in mud and gravel, and 

 among the boulders, from early dawn to dark. What 

 matter ? It was work. It was not for hire, but just 

 to help one who had helped him ; to ' earn his 

 grub ' and feel he was a man, doing the work of his 

 friend's partner, * who was away.' 



For three full weeks the Boy worked on ; grateful 

 for the toil ; grateful for the knowledge gained ; 

 most grateful that he could by work repay a kindness. 

 And then the truth came out ! The kindly fiction 

 fell away as they sat and rested on the day of rest. 

 " The claim could not stand two white men's grub " 

 had fallen from the man, accounting for his partner's 

 absence. 



It was the simple and unstudied truth and calm 

 unconsciousness of where it struck that gave the thrust 

 its force ; and in the clear still air of the Sunday 

 morning the Boy turned hot and cold and dizzy to 

 think of his folly, and of the kindness he had so Ion 

 imposed upon. It was a little spell before his 



7 



lips 



