o the gold, and say, 'Behold
them here!'"

"If both your hands are full I don't see how you can point to the bags
of gold," said Tom, who liked to tease the young Bostonian.

"There are a great many things you don't understand," said Mr. Peabody,
irritably.

"He is right, Tom," said Ferguson, with a quiet smile.

"If you are both against me, I will give it up," said Tom. "All I can
say is, I hope you'll get the two bags of gold, Mr. Peabody, and that
you'll get the young lady, too."

Here Fletcher came up, and called upon Tom to assist in preparations for
supper. Our hero readily complied with the request. Indeed, he always
showed himself so obliging that he won the favorable regards of all.

Mr. Peabody continued the conversation with Mr. Ferguson.

"Do you think there's as much gold in California as people say?" he
asked.

"No," answered the Scotchman.

"You don't?" ejaculated the Bostonian, in dismay.

"No; people always magnify when they talk of a new country. Now, my
friend, how much do you expect to get in the first year?"

"Well, about fifty thousand dollars," answered Peabody.

"And how much were you earning in Boston--a thousand dollars?"

"About that," answered Peabody vaguely. In fact, he had been working on
a salary of twelve dollars a week, in a retail dry-goods store on
Washington Street.

"Then you expect to make fifty times as much as at home?"

"Don't you think I will?"

"I have never had such large expectations. If I make three or four
thousand dollars in twelve months it will satisfy me."

"But a man would never get rich, at that rate," said Lawrence Peabody
uneasily.

"I don't know about that. It depends as much on what a man does with his
money, as on the amount he makes," said the prudent Scot.

"I am afraid I did wrong in leaving Boston," said Peabody gloomily. "If
I am to travel many weeks through the mud, and get no more than that, I
shall feel that I am poorly paid."

"You don't feel like my young friend Tom. He is full of hope, and enjoys
everything."

"He hasn't been brought up as I have," said Peabody. "A country boy in
cowhide boots is tough, and don't mind roughing it."

Ferguson did not have a chance to answer, for there was a summons to
supper--a welcome call, that made even Mr. Lawrence Peabody look
cheerful for the time being.

CHAPTER XXIII.

MR. PEABODY'S TROUBLES.

When the party camped for the night the custom was to arrange the
baggage wag