Four weeks had passed. The scene has changed for Harry. He is no longer living in a first-class city hotel on the fat of the land, but is “roughing it” at the Victoria mines, seventy miles north-west of Melbourne.

These diggings were of limited extent, occupying not above a square mile; but this square mile was a scene of extraordinary animation and activity. Scattered over it were hundreds of miners, rough-bearded, and clothed with little regard to taste or elegance. They represented many countries, differing widely except in being all occupied by one engrossing passion, the love of gold. Some, rough as they now look, had been gentlemen at home, fastidious in their dress and personal appearance, but not to be recognized now, so much were they changed. Others had always been roughs, and this life which they were now leading was little adapted to improve them. But it is not necessary to speak of the mines in general. Our interest is confined to two, and these two are of course Harry and his adviser and friend John Bush.

At the moment of my introducing them once more to the reader, Bush was seated upon the ground smoking a pipe, while Harry was carefully inspecting the back of a shovel, from which he had just been washing some earth, in search of particles of gold.

“Do you find anything, boy?” asked Bush, taking his pipe from his mouth.

Harry came nearer, that Bush might examine for himself.

“Yes,” he said, “there is a little.”

“It’s the only gold I have found to-day.”

“Yes, lad, we are not growing rich very fast, that’s a fact. We’ve been at work more than three weeks, and I don’t think we have netted five ounces.”

“No,” said Harry.

I may remark here that an ounce is worth not far from twenty dollars. It follows accordingly that the amount referred to represented less than a hundred dollars.

“I’ll tell you what I have been thinking of, Harry,” said Bush.

“What is it?”

“I think our chances will be better further up the hill. Here we may, if we are lucky, get three ounces a week,—probably not as much. What I want is a nugget.”

“But that isn’t so easy to find,” said Harry.

“No, that’s true; but they are found, for all that. Shall I tell you what has made me think of it most?”

“Yes, if you will.”

Bush lowered his voice.

“Do you see that spot, about half a mile away, where that rough, gray rock stands?”

“Yes.”

“Three nights ago I dreamed that I found a big nugget within a yard of that rock. Now, I never put much faith in dreams; but I’ve had that same one twice since.”

“You have?” said Harry, interested.

“Yes, and you know what they say, ‘the third time never fails.’ I’m not over-superstitious, Harry, but it’s my idea that dream means something. What do you say?”

“It is very singular, at any rate,” said Harry.

“At any rate, I’ve a mind to see what it means, if it means anything. So I’m going to leave you here, and go up there. If I find nothing, well and good, I’ll come back. If I’m lucky, we’ll share the good luck. What do you say?”

“That you are very generous, Bush.” Harry had come to call him so, for they are not very ceremonious at the mines.

“Wait till you have something to thank me for.”

The next morning, accordingly, Harry was left alone. He worked all day without meeting with much success. All the gold he found probably would not have amounted to fifty cents, and that was not a very liberal compensation for the long and tiresome labor needed.

At nightfall Bush came back.

“Well, Bush,” said Harry, “have you met with any success?”

“No,” said Bush; “and I didn’t expect any, not to-day.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s only the first day.”

“Still you might find something the first day. Did you find nothing?”

“Yes, a few grains of gold; but that I did not care for. I’m after a nugget. You don’t understand what I mean by the first day.”

“No.”

“I had that dream three times, you know, Harry,” said the miner, lowering his voice. “It’s impressed on my mind that if I find anything it’ll be on the third day.”

“Perhaps you will,” said our hero, who was impressed by the evident earnestness of his companion. “At any rate, I hope so.”

The next morning Bush left Harry, and returned to the rock.

While Harry was at work, meeting with a little more success than the day before, a rough fellow, Henderson by name, lounged up to him.

“What luck, comrade?” he asked.

“Not much,” said Harry. “I haven’t made my fortune yet.”

“Nor I,” said Henderson, emphasizing the declaration with an oath. “I’ve had cursed bad luck all along.”

This was not surprising, for Henderson was a lazy, shiftless fellow, whose main idea was to make a living without earning it. He had come from London, where his reputation was none of the best, and had haunted the mines for a considerable time. He worked at mining by fits and starts, but never long enough to gain anything. At one time, indeed, he appeared to have considerable money, with which he returned to Melbourne, where he soon got rid of it. Where he got this money was a mystery. But it happened, by an unfortunate coincidence, that just at that time a poor fellow who, by hard labor, had managed to collect about fifty ounces of the precious metal, suddenly found himself stripped of everything. There were some who suspected Henderson of knowing something of this gold, and where it went to; but nothing could be proved, and so of course nothing was done. Harry had seen him more than once, and he understood very well what sort of a character he was; so, at present, he hoped that the fellow would soon leave him.

“Where’s your pal?” asked Henderson.

“You mean Bush?”

“Who else should I mean?”

“He’s trying another place.”

“Whereabouts?”

Harry pointed out Bush further up the hill. The distance being but quarter of a mile, it was possible to distinguish him.

“What sent the fool up there?”

“He is not a fool,” said Harry, shortly.

“Call him what you like; he’s a fool if he expects to find anything up there.”

“He has his reasons,” said Harry.

“What are they?” inquired Henderson, growing attentive.

“You must ask him if you want to know,” said Harry.

Henderson went off whistling, and our hero, on thinking the matter over, was rather sorry that he had hinted as much about his friend’s reasons for going up the hill. Having a very poor opinion of Henderson, he feared that the latter would watch and find out if anything of importance were discovered, and this was hardly desirable in a district where the ordinary restraints of law were relaxed, and cupidity often led to violence. At any rate, Harry determined to put Bush on his guard.

“Bush,” he said, when the latter returned, “Henderson has been asking about you to-day. He thought you were a fool to go up there after gold.”

“Let him think so if he likes.”

“But I am afraid you will think that I am the fool.”

“Why so?”

“Because I told him you had reasons for going there.”

“Just as well not said, my lad: but no harm’s done.”

“Have you found anything yet?”

“No; but it’s only the second day, you remember.”

“You still think that the third day will be the lucky one?”

“Yes, if any.”

“That is to-morrow.”

“Yes, to-morrow will decide. If I don’t find any thing to-morrow, I shall give it up for a bad job, and come back.”

They had a tent just off the grounds. Here they slept and lived, cooking their food, and keeping house, if it may be called so. When the day’s work was over, Bush generally sat down at the door of the tent, and smoked a pipe. He tried to induce Harry to do the same; but our hero had never touched tobacco, and had no cravings for it. So he always declined.

When the pipe was smoked, Bush, if he happened to feel in a communicative mood, often related incidents from his life, which had been an adventurous one. To these narrations Harry always listened with interest.

“I’ve been a rolling stone, Harry,” said his companion. “It might have been different; but all that belong to me are dead. There’s nobody I feel an interest in except you. I’m going to keep track of you, and when I die, if I leave anything, you shall have it.”

“Don’t talk about dying,” said Harry. “Perhaps you’ll live longer than I.”

“Perhaps so; but I’m a deal older, my lad. There’s more chance for you.”

Bush was a man in the prime of life, and Harry built no hopes on this promise. He only thought that it was very kind, and, it being his nature to repay kindness with kindness, he felt drawn to his rough companion more closely on learning of his intention.

The next morning Bush returned to his digging on the hill-side, and Harry continued at the same place, meeting with a little success, but not much. However, there were some who worked for months with less encouragement, and finally met with a streak of luck. So Harry did not lose hope, though he felt that it was tantalizing and trying to the patience.

At nightfall Bush came back. Before he had come up to him, Harry read in his excited look that something had happened.

“What luck?” he asked.

Bush looked about him cautiously. There were two men within hearing distance, so he lowered his tone. He only uttered five words, but they were of such a character that Harry became no less excited than he.

“The dream has come true!”

This was what he said, and Harry understood at once.

“Let us go and take a walk, my lad.”

Harry eagerly complied with his invitation, and they wandered away till they were out of earshot of any one.

“Now tell me all about it,” said he.

“It was about the middle of the afternoon,” said Bush; “the day was nearly gone, and I began to think what a fool I was to place such dependence upon a dream, even if it were three times repeated. However, it was only the loss of three days, and that wasn’t much; so little harm was done, if all came to nothing. Of course I wasn’t going to give up till the day was over. Just as I was thinking this, suddenly I struck against something hard. I kept on, not hoping much, till I brought out a nugget,—a stunner, I tell you.”

“How much would it weigh?” asked Harry.

“I hefted it,” said Bush, “and it doesn’t weigh an ounce less than twenty-five pounds.”

Twenty-five pounds! Harry held his breath in astonishment and delight. He performed a rough calculation hastily in his head, and it dawned upon him that the nugget must be worth at least five thousand dollars!

That was pretty good for one day’s work.