nded the funeral of an old Ballarat
mate, a stranger who had been watching his face curiously remarked that
McKenzie seemed as pleased as though the dead digger had bequeathed him
a fortune. But the stranger had soon reason to alter his opinion, for
when another old mate began in a tremulous voice to repeat the words
"Ashes to ashes, an' dust to dust," two big tears suddenly burst from
Peter's eyes, and hurried down to get entrapped in his beard.

Peter's goldmining ventures were not successful. He sank three duffers
in succession on Gulgong, and the fourth shaft, after paying expenses,
left a little over a hundred to each party, and Peter had to send the
bulk of his share home. He lived in a tent (or in a hut when he could
get one) after the manner of diggers, and he "did for himself", even to
washing his own clothes. He never drank nor "played", and he took little
enjoyment of any kind, yet there was not a digger on the field who would
dream of calling old Peter McKenzie "a mean man". He lived, as we know
from our own observations, in a most frugal manner. He always tried to
hide this, and took care to have plenty of good things for us when he
invited us to his hut; but children's eyes are sharp. Some said that
Peter half-starved himself, but I don't think his family ever knew,
unless he told them so afterwards.

Ah, well! the years go over. Peter was now three years from home, and he
and Fortune were enemies still. Letters came by the mail, full of little
home troubles and prayers for Peter's return, and letters went back by
the mail, always hopeful, always cheerful. Peter never gave up. When
everything else failed he would work by the day (a sad thing for a
digger), and he was even known to do a job of fencing until such time
as he could get a few pounds and a small party together to sink another
shaft.

Talk about the heroic struggles of early explorers in a hostile country;
but for dogged determination and courage in the face of poverty,
illness, and distance, commend me to the old-time digger--the truest
soldier Hope ever had!

In the fourth year of his struggle Peter met with a terrible
disappointment. His party put down a shaft called the Forlorn Hope near
Happy Valley, and after a few weeks' fruitless driving his mates jibbed
on it. Peter had his own opinion about the ground--an old digger's
opinion, and he used every argument in his power to induce his mates to
put a few days' more work in the claim. In v