and lay
a cheap lacquered frame containing a daguerreotype of a girl's face. A
sudden contrition smote Jim; he turned anxiously to his bunk, throwing
the clothes left and right. The vest he had worn when he left the Francis
Cadman lay under the pillow. He dived his finger into the watch-pocket,
and heaved a sigh of relief. Yes, it was there, safe and sound. He held
Lucy Woodrow's miniature, gazing on it, suffused with chastened emotions.
Heavens! how beautiful she was, and so gentle and generous! What an ass
he had been! He kissed the picture very tenderly, and with a bit of twine
secured it in the pocket of his jumper in dangerous proximity to his
heart.

Jim Done had now seen much of the fanciful night life of the camps. A
populous lead presented a picturesque appearance by night. The
illuminated tents and the flaring camp-fires dotted the field thickly,
and where the tents of the business people were drawn in line and
something like a main street formed, slush lights and kerosene torches
flamed and swinging oil-lamps lit up the scene. Here the wilder spirits
assembled and drank square gin, and gambled in the canvas shanty bars, or
danced with fine frenzy to music provided by some enterprising German
Fraeulein stolidly grinding a hurdy-gurdy. There were numerous sly
grog-shops amongst the tents, and most of the storekeepers sold illicit
drink with open impudence. These places were often centres of roaring,
ribald life after nightfall; but the majority of the diggers lay in
groups about their camp-fires, chatting quietly or reading the most
recent papers available, and were peaceably inclined, easy-going
citizens.

It was the fiercer side of existence on the fields that appealed most
directly to Jim; he loved the strong colour, the exultant animation, the
devil-may-care character, that marked the gatherings in the bars and the
gambling-saloons. He took little active part in the playing and the
drinking, but the feverish energy of the men and the stirring scenes
provided such vivid contrast to what he had hitherto known and seen of
life that his soul was greedy for it all. To Mike these scenes were all
familiar; his attitude towards them was one of quiet indifference, and he
regarded Jim's rapture with the amused tolerance a sedate, elderly
gentleman feels for the enthusiasm of a little boy.

The mates had shifted their tent to a convenient position near the claim
they were now working, and were camped within two hun