te the shaft with the
windlass, and hailed the boy in his usual form of salutation.

"Look, see here Isley!"

"What is it, Bob?"

"I seed a young--why--magpie up in the scrub, and yer oughter be able to
catch it."

"Can't leave the shaft; father's b'low."

"How did yer father know there was any--why--wash in the old shaft?"

"Seed old Corney in town Saturday, 'n he said thur was enough to make it
worth while bailin' out. Bin bailin' all the mornin'."

Bob came over, and letting his tools down with a clatter he hitched up
the knees of his moleskins and sat down on one heel.

"What are yer--why--doin' on the slate, Isley?" said he, taking out an
old clay pipe and lighting it.

"Sums," said Isley.

Bob puffed away at his pipe a moment.

"'Tain't no use!" he said, sitting down on the clay and drawing his
knees up. "Edication's a failyer."

"Listen at 'im!" exclaimed the boy. "D'yer mean ter say it ain't no use
learnin' readin' and writin' and sums?"

"Isley!"

"Right, father."

The boy went to the windlass and let the bucket down. Bob offered
to help him wind up, but Isley, proud of showing his strength to his
friend, insisted on winding by himself.

"You'll be--why--a strong man some day, Isley," said Bob, landing the
bucket.

"Oh, I could wind up a lot more'n father puts in. Look how I greased
the handles! It works like butter now," and the boy sent the handles
spinning round with a jerk to illustrate his meaning.

"Why did they call yer Isley for?" queried Bob, as they resumed their
seats. "It ain't yer real name, is it?"

"No, my name's Harry. A digger useter say I was a isle in the ocean to
father 'n mother, 'n then I was nicknamed Isle, 'n then Isley."

"You hed a--why--brother once, didn't yer?"

"Yes, but thet was afore I was borned. He died, at least mother used ter
say she didn't know if he was dead; but father says he's dead as fur's
he's concerned."

"And your father hed a brother, too. Did yer ever--why--hear of him?"

"Yes, I heard father talkin' about it wonst to mother. I think father's
brother got into some row in a bar where a man was killed."

"And was yer--why--father--why--fond of him?"

"I heard father say that he was wonst, but thet was all past."

Bob smoked in silence for a while, and seemed to look at some dark
clouds that were drifting along like a funeral out in the west.
Presently he said half aloud something that sounded like "All,
all--why--past."

"Eh?" sa