ke our first halt. All
serene, my lovely Bishop; all thought out and planned, just like in a
book. Never hurry in the bush, my beautiful ecclesiastic, as nothing's
ever gained by that. More haste, less speed--in the bush, my learned
preacher. What a pity they didn't catch you young and turn you into a
sky-pilot, Ben. The way you jawed them two was fit for the pulpit. But
now I know where you got the money to repay me that L117. I don't want
any explanation. I know where you got it."

CHAPTER XXIV.

The Goldsmith Comes to Town.

Timber Town was in a state of commotion. The news of the discovery of
the new gold-field had spread far and wide, and every steamer which came
into the port was crowded with clammering diggers. Every boarding-house
was full to overflowing, every inn was choked with men in heavy boots
and corduroy trousers; the roads on the outskirts of the town were lined
with rows of tents; everybody talked of the El Dorado in the mountains;
there was no thought but of gold; men were buying stores in every shop;
pack-horses stood with their heavy loads, in every inn-yard; and towards
the bush, threading their way through the tortuous gorge that led into
the heart of the mountains, a continual string of diggers, laden with
heavy "swags" or leading patient over-laden horses, filed into the
depths of the forest.

Jake Ruggles had lived a troubled life since his legal head and
overlord, the official sponsor of his promising young life, had dropped
out of his existence, as a stone drops to the bottom of a well and is
no more seen. Upon his immature shoulders rested all the worry of the
goldsmith's business. He was master of Tresco's bench; the gravers and
the rat-tail files, the stock-drills and the corn-tongs were under
his hand for good or for evil. With blow-pipe and burnisher, with
plush-wheel and stake-anvil he wrought patiently; almost bursting with
responsibility, yet with anxiety gnawing at his heart. And the lies he
told on behalf of his "boss"!--lies to men with unpaid accounts in their
hands, lies to constables with bits of blue paper from the Clerk of the
Court, lies to customers whose orders could not be executed except by
the master-goldsmith. On all sides the world pressed heavily on Jake.
His wizened face was quickly assuming the aspect of a little old man's;
his furtive eyes began to wear a scared look; sleep had ceased to visit
his innocent couch with regularity; his appetite, which form