ut they only grinned. So Bill addressed himself once more to the
subject in hand, though his ideas had run out with his last rhetorical
effort. "I don't think I can beat that," he said; "I think I'll leave
it at that. I hope she'll pan out rich in virtue, an' prove a valuable
claim. Me an' Tresco's got a long way to go before night. I hope you'll
excuse us if we start to make a git." He held out his hand to Jack, and
said, "Health an' prosperity to you an' the missis, mate. So-long." Then
he hitched up his swag, and walked down the gravelled path regardless of
Tresco or anyone else.

The goldsmith tarried a moment or two.

"It's hardly possible we shall meet again," he said. "If we don't, I
wish you a long good-bye. It is said that men value most those to whom
they have been of service; but whether that is so or not, I shall always
like to think of the days we spent together on Bush Robin Creek."

"When this little bit of a breeze has blown over," said Jack, "I hope
you'll come back."

"Not much." The reply was straight and unequivocal. "I may have
retrieved my character in the eyes of the people of Timber Town, but in
the eyes of the Law never, even if I satisfy its requirements in its
prescribed manner. I shall go to some other country and there live,
happy in the knowledge that I expiated my wrong-doing by saving my
innocent friend from the danger of death, at the price of my own
liberty. Good-bye."

"Good-bye."

Jack's hand clasped the craftsman's, each man took a long, straight look
at the other's kindly face, and then they parted.

The body-guard closed round the goldsmith and the Prospector, and
escorted them through the Town to The Lucky Digger, where they saw their
charges fed and refreshed for the journey. Then they conducted them out
of the town to the top of the dividing range, and there bade them a long
adieu.

EPILOGUE.

When the play is over, it is customary for the curtain to be raised for
a few moments, that the audience may take a last look at the players;
and though the action of our piece is ended and the story is told, the
reader is asked to give a final glance at the stage, on which have been
acted the varied scenes of the tale of Timber Town.

In the inner recess of Tresco's cave, where he had made his comfortless
bed, the dim light of a candle is burning. As its small flame lights up
the cold walls, stained black with the smoke of the goldsmith's dead
fire, a weeping woman is