Digging for Gold

“Four weeks only.”

“Alone?”

“Yes; I told Grant that it was a whim of mine to try the experiment of living in utter solitude.”

“How do you like it, as far as you’ve got?”

Giles Crosmont laughed. He was amused by the frank curiosity of his young acquaintance.

“I’ve got as far as I care to go in this particular direction. After breakfast I may have a proposal to make to you.”

They reached the cabin, and Crosmont hospitably produced his stock of provisions, to which his visitors did ample justice.

“Now for my proposal,” said Crosmont. “I should like to join your party.”

“You are welcome, sir; but, as Grant has probably told you, we are all out of provisions.”

“I will turn over to you the balance of mine, and I have more concealed in the woods, at a little distance.”

“Good!” said Tom, in a tone of satisfaction. “We will buy them of you.”

“No, you won’t. I freely contribute them as my share of the common expense. I can help you in another way also. I am a good shot, and I hope to add a deer or an antelope to your stock at frequent intervals.”

“We shall be glad to have you join us,” said Mrs. Cooper hospitably. “Our meeting with you is quite providential.”

Giles Crosmont took off his hat and bowed respectfully to Mrs. Cooper. It was evident that he was a gentleman by birth and training.

“It was what I was waiting for,” he said; “an invitation from the lady. I am afraid I must ask you to help convey the provisions to the camp.”

“Grant and I will undertake that,” said Tom, with alacrity.

“And I will help you,” added the blacksmith. “We are in luck to find food on such an easy condition.”

In half an hour the providential supply was stowed in the wagon, and the party, augmented to five, started on its way.

Generally Tom and Grant had walked together, but the stranger showed such a preference for Grant’s society that Tom fell back and joined his father, leaving his friend and their new acquaintance to journey together.

“So you are going to California to dig for gold, Grant?” said Crosmont, as he moderated his pace to adapt himself to Grant’s shorter steps.

“Yes, sir,” answered Grant enthusiastically. “I wish I were there now.”

“Suppose now that you should be fortunate, and secure, say, ten thousand dollars; you would be happy?”

“Oh, yes.”

“To a boy like you, the possession of money seems sure to bring happiness.”

“In my case, yes. Remember, Mr. Crosmont, I have a mother to care for. I should like to take her from Mr. Tarbox’s house, where she is a slave, and give her a nice home of her own. That wouldn’t take more than two thousand dollars, and with the balance I could go into business.”

“Yes, you have your mother to live for,” said Crosmont; and he dropped into a thoughtful mood.

“Will you go to the mines also?” asked Grant, less from curiosity than in order to break the silence.

“No – yes; I will go with you for a time; but the mines have no attraction for me.”

“Don’t you care for gold?”

“I have enough already.”

Then, seeing that Grant’s curiosity was excited, he added: “I don’t mind telling you, Grant, that I am a rich man, rich beyond my wants, and I have no temptation to increase my wealth.”

Grant regarded his companion with the respect that a boy of his age is apt to feel for a rich man – so rich that he doesn’t care to increase his wealth.

“I wonder how it would seem to be rich,” he said thoughtfully.

“Perhaps you will have a chance to experience the feeling some time.”

“I hope so.”

“You are young, strong, self-reliant. In your favored country this will help you to become rich. But after you have acquired wealth, I doubt if you will find it makes you as happy as you expect.”

“But,” said Grant, “if I am rich I can help others. That will make me happy.”

“True!” returned the other, as if it were a new idea. “This ought to have occurred to me before. I will remember it.”

“Were you always rich, sir?”

“Yes. I was born to wealth. My father was a wealthy gentleman living in Devonshire, England. From my earliest years I was accustomed to all that wealth could buy. I never knew what poverty meant.”

“I should think you would wish to live in England.”

“If I lived there it would be alone.”

“Then you have no family!”

Giles Crosmont was silent, and a pained expression showed itself on his face.

“Excuse me if I have shown too much curiosity,” said Grant apologetically.

“There is no need to apologize, yet your question called up painful memories. I had a son – I don’t know if he is still alive – who must now be twenty-five years old. He disappointed me. I sent him to college, and he plunged into extravagance. I paid his debts twice. The last time, in my anger, I declined to do so. He forged a check on me for a large sum, paid his debts with part of the proceeds, and then disappeared.”

“How long ago was that?” inquired Grant, in a sympathetic tone.

“Four years. For a year I remained at my home, hoping to hear something from him, but no tidings came. Then I began to travel, and am still travelling. Sometime I may meet him, and if I do – ”

“You will forgive him?”

“I will try to reclaim him.”