d.

The digger took the cheque from Tresco, looked at it upside-down, and
said, "That's all right," folded it up, put it in his breeches' pocket
just as if it had been a common one-pound note, and remarked, "Well, I
must make a git. So-long."

"No, sir," said the goldsmith. "There is the beer: here are the men. No,
sir; not thus must you depart. Refresh the inner man. Follow me. We must
drink your health and continued good fortune."

Carefully carrying the beer, Tresco led the way to his workshop, placed
the jug on his bench, and soon the amber-coloured liquor foamed in two
long glasses.

The digger put his pint to his hairy lips, said, "_Kia ora._ Here's
fun," drank deep and gasped--the froth ornamenting his moustache. "The
first drop I've tasted this three months."

"You must ha' come from way back, where there're no shanties," risked
Tresco.

"From way back," acknowledged the digger.

"Twelve solid weeks? You _must_ have a thirst."

"Pretty fair, you bet." The digger groped about in the depth of his
pocket, and drew forth a fine nugget. "Look at that," he said, with his
usual chuckle.

Tresco balanced the lump of gold in his deft hand.

"Three ounces?"

"Three, six."

"'Nother little cheque. Turn out your pockets, mister. I'll buy all
you've got."

"That's the lot," said the digger, taking back the nugget and fingering
it lovingly. "I don't sell that--it's my lucky bit; the first I found."
Another chuckle. "Tell you what. Some day you can make me something
outer this, something to wear for a charm. No alloy, you understand; all
pure gold. And use the whole nugget."

Tresco pursed his lips, and looked contemplative.

"A three-ounce charm, worn round the neck, might strangle a digger in a
swollen creek. Where'd his luck be then? But how about your missis?
Can't you divide it?"

The digger laughed his loudest.

"Give it the missis! That's good. The missis'd want more'n an ounce and
a half for her share. Mister, wimmen's expensive."

"Ain't you got no kid to share the charm with?"

"Now you're gettin' at me"--the chuckle again--"worse 'an ever. You're
gettin' at me fine. Look 'ere, I'm goin' to quit: I'm off."

"But, in the meantime, what am I to do with this nice piece of gold? I
could make a ring for each of your fingers, and some for your toes. I
could pretty near make you a collarette, to wear when you go to evening
parties in a low-necked dress, or a watch chain more massive than the
bloo