e. Here he set a sluice-box and put his three little
miners at work with pick, pan and shovel. There he left them and
limped back to his own place in the mine below.

And how they did work! And how pleasant it was here under the broad
boughs of the oak, with the water rippling through the sluice on the
soft, loose soil which they shoveled into the long sluice-box. They
could see the mule-trains going and coming, and the clouds of dust far
below which told them the stage was whirling up the valley. But Jim
kept steadily on at his work day after day. Even though jack-rabbits
and squirrels appeared on the very scene, he would not leave till,
like the rest of the honest miners, he could shoulder his pick and pan
and go down home with the setting sun.

Sometimes the men who had tried to keep the children at school, would
come that way, and with a sly smile, talk very wisely about whether
or not the new miners would "strike it" under the cool oak among the
flowers on the hill. But Jim never stopped to talk much. He dug and
wrestled away, day after day, now up to his waist in the pit.

One Saturday evening the old man limped up the hillside to help the
young miners "clean up."

[Illustration: "COLOR! TWO COLORS! THREE, FOUR, FIVE--A DOZEN!"]

He sat down at the head of the sluice-box and gave directions how they
should turn off the most of the water, wash down the "toilings" very
low, lift up the "riffle," brush down the "apron," and finally set the
pan in the lower end of the "sluice-toil" and pour in the quicksilver
to gather up and hold the gold.

"What for you put your hand in de water for, papa?" queried Little
Stumps, who had left off his work, which consisted mainly of pulling
flowers and putting them in the sluice-box to see them float away. He
was sitting by his father's side, and he looked up in his face as he
spoke.

"Hush, child," said the old man softly, as he again dipped his thumb
and finger in his vest pocket as if about to take snuff. But he did
not take snuff. Again his hand was reached down to the rippling water
at the head of the sluice-box. And this time curious but obedient
Little Stumps was silent.

Suddenly there was a shout, such a shout from Jim as the hills had not
heard since he was a schoolboy.

He had found the "color." "Two colors! three, four, five--a dozen!"
The boy shouted like a Modoc, threw down the brush and scraper, and
kissed his little sister over and over, and cried as he did