ain he pointed out that the
quality of the wash and the dip of the bottom exactly resembled that of
the "Brown Snake", a rich Victorian claim. In vain he argued that in the
case of the abovementioned claim, not a colour could be got until the
payable gold was actually reached. Home Rule and The Canadian and that
cluster of fields were going ahead, and his party were eager to shift.
They remained obstinate, and at last, half-convinced against his
opinion, Peter left with them to sink the "Iawatha", in Log Paddock,
which turned out a rank duffer--not even paying its own expenses.

A party of Italians entered the old claim and, after driving it a few
feet further, made their fortune.

. . . . .

We all noticed the change in Peter McKenzie when he came to "Log
Paddock", whither we had shifted before him. The old smile still
flickered, but he had learned to "look" grave for an hour at a time
without much effort. He was never quite the same after the affair of
Forlorn Hope, and I often think how he must have "cried" sometimes
"inside".

However, he still read us letters from home, and came and smoked in
the evening by our kitchen-fire. He showed us some new portraits of his
family which he had received by a late mail, but something gave me
the impression that the portraits made him uneasy. He had them in his
possession for nearly a week before showing them to us, and to the best
of our knowledge he never showed them to anybody else. Perhaps they
reminded him of the flight of time--perhaps he would have preferred his
children to remain just as he left them until he returned.

But stay! there was one portrait that seemed to give Peter infinite
pleasure. It was the picture of a chubby infant of about three years
or more. It was a fine-looking child taken in a sitting position on
a cushion, and arrayed in a very short shirt. On its fat, soft, white
face, which was only a few inches above the ten very podgy toes, was a
smile something like Peter's. Peter was never tired of looking at and
showing the picture of his child--the child he had never seen. Perhaps
he cherished a wild dream of making his fortune and returning home
before THAT child grew up.

. . . . .

McKenzie and party were sinking a shaft at the upper end of Log Paddock,
generally called "The other end". We were at the lower end.

One day Peter came down from "the other end" and told us that his party
expected to "bottom" during the fo