“And what have I been?” asked Smith, with a tremulous voice, his head falling upon his breast.

“Let us not refer to such matters,” cried the stockman, briskly, throwing off, with an effort, the constraint which the conversation had given him.  “I ask you if you are willing to marry my daughter, poor as she is, and poor as you know me to be?”

The stockman’s gray eyes were fixed upon the face of the suitor as though reading his most secret thoughts.

“I have already answered that question, and told you that I was willing and anxious to have the ceremony performed without delay.  You shall live with us, and take care of the house while I am at the mines.  You shall never want as long as I possess a shilling,” answered Smith, heartily.  “Do those words come from your heart?” asked the old convict, eagerly.

“Else I should not have uttered them,” Smith answered.

“Then my daughter shall be your wife; but she will not be the penniless woman you think for.  Follow me, and I will show you a sight that will surprise you.”

Thinking that the invitation was not addressed to us, Fred and myself held back, and did not offer to follow the old man into his hut.  The stockman saw that we hesitated, and he called to us.

“Come in, all of you.  I can trust friends, and I am sure you have all proved to be such.”

We followed, wondering what he meant by his words and hasty gestures, and half inclined to think that the late trials through which he had passed, had unsettled his brain.

“Come in,” he whispered, “and shut the door.  We don’t want passing strangers to see what we have concealed.  Becky, where is the iron bar?” he whispered, still lower.

His daughter handed a small iron bar to him, and with it he raised the corner of a heavy stone, which formed his hearth.

“Now hold the bar in that position for me,” he said, addressing Smith.

The latter complied, with his request, when the stockman inserted his hand under the stone, and after groping about for a moment, pulled out a heavy sheepskin bag, and laid it beside him.  Once more he reached, and again dragged to light another bag, similar in size and weight.  He motioned to let the stone return to its place, and then turned to us with a triumphant air.

While the old man was thus employed, we remained silent, hardly knowing what the proceedings on his part meant.  With trembling hands he untied the strings which confined the mouths of the bags, and held them up for us to view.  To our amazement, we found they were filled with fine gold dust, of an excellent quality, and that the two sacks contained not less than twenty thousand dollars’ worth.

We uttered an exclamation of astonishment, and could hardly believe that what we saw was real.

“Yes, yes; it’s all good gold, God be praised,” cried the stockman, eagerly; “you thought that the old man was poor and destitute, but you see that I’m not.  I’ve wealth, and it’s all my own.  God be praised.”