min' Mayor's. There's twelve pounds' worth of gold in that piece."

The digger looked perplexed. The problem puzzled him.

"How'd an amulet suit you?" suggested the goldsmith.

"A what?"

"A circle for the arm, with a charm device chased on it."

"A bit like a woman, that--eh, mister?"

"Not at all. The Prince o' Wales, an' the Dook o' York, an' all the
_elite_ wears 'em. It'd be quite the fashion."

The digger returned the nugget to his pocket. "I call you a dam' amusin'
cuss, I do that. You're a goer. There ain't no keepin' up with the likes
o' _you_. You shall make what you blame well please--we'll talk about it
by-and-by. But for the present, where's the best pub?"

"The Lucky Digger," said Jake, without hesitation.

"Certainly," reiterated Tresco. "You'll pass it on your way to the
Bank."

"Well, so-long," said the digger. "See you later." And, shouldering his
swag, he held out his horny hand.

"I reckon," said the goldsmith. "Eight o'clock this evening. So-long."
And the digger went out.

Tresco stood on his doorstep, and with half-shut eyes watched the
prospector to the door of The Lucky Digger.

"Can't locate it," he mused, "and I know where all the gold, sold in
this town, comes from. Nor I can't locate _him_. But he's struck it, and
struck it rich."

There were birch twigs caught in the straps of the digger's "swag," and
he had a bit of _rata_ flower stuck in the band of his hat. "That's
where he's come from!" Tresco pointed in the direction of the great
range of mountains which could be seen distinctly through the window of
his workshop.

"What's it worth?" asked Jake, who stood beside his master.

"The gold? Not a penny less than L3/17/-an ounce, my son."

"An' you give L3/15/-. Good business, boss."

"I drew him a cheque for three hundred pounds, and I haven't credit at
the bank for three hundred shillings. So I must go and sell this gold
before he has time to present my cheque. Pretty close sailing, Jake.

"But mark me, young shaver. There's better times to come. If the
discovery of this galoot don't mean a gold boom in Timber Town, you may
send the crier round and call me a flathead. Things is goin' to hum."

CHAPTER VI.

The Father of Timber Town.

"I never heard the like of it!" exclaimed Mr. Crewe. "You say,
eighty-two ounces of gold? You say it came from within fifty miles
of Timber Town? Why, sir, the matter must be looked into." The old
gentleman's voice rose to a