We told Mike that we would stick to our word, and that he should have his share even if he had found a lump as large as his body.  The assertion satisfied him, that we intended to deal honestly by him; and leaving Mr. Critchet to tend the store, we walked towards our claim, the purchase of which, on our part, had excited the ridicule of more than one of our friends.

On our way, Mike related the manner in which he found his treasure.  He said that he had worked steadily for an hour or two, and had not found the first sign of gold, and that he stopped for a while to rest and smoke his pipe, and also to trim his lamp; that he fell asleep, and slept for an hour or two, and dreamed that he was sitting on a nugget of gold that was as large as his father’s mud cabin in Ireland, and that he was wondering how he could get it up the shaft, when he was awakened by a drop of water which trickled from the ground overhead, striking him on his nose.

He started up, and thought how pleasant it would be if his dream would only come true; and rather by accident than design he let the point of his pick fall into the earth where he had been sitting.  The dirt gave way, and he thought by the dim light of his lamp, that he saw something glisten.

Once more he struck the ground, threw aside a little dirt, and then he imagined that his dream had come true, for the bright gleam of gold was before him.

“Me heart was in me mouth,” Mike continued, “and I did not pretend to use me spade or me pick for fear that the goold would vanish from me sight.  I threw myself upon me knees, and dug with me fingers, and hardly dared to breathe for fear that I should lose it; and when I had freed it from the dirt, and attempted to lift it up, O! didn’t it seem good to have it howld back, as though it didn’t like being dragged from its bed so early in the morning!

“I worked it clear of the soil; and then me heart was too full to stay there any longer.  I had to run to the store and ease me heart.  But mind, honeys!  Fair play in the division, ye know.  Mind the honor of an Irish gentleman, who is too modest to spake for himself.”

Mike’s idea of modesty was about on a par with the natives of Australia, who think they are in full dress when the only article of wearing apparel that they can boast of is a hat, or a cast-off stocking, thrown on the roadside by some blister-footed adventurer on his way to the mines.

We pacified the man a second time; and by this period we were at the shaft, and ready to descend.  Fred insisted upon going first, and after him the Irishman, while I hailed a passing patrolman, and got him to extend the same favor to myself, when I got ready to be lowered in the bucket.

“Well, Fred,” I shouted, “have we been hoaxed or not?  Is it a blarney stone or a lump of gold that Mike has found?”

“Pull up,” yelled Fred, and I heard some heavy substance thrown into the bucket.