you are not fit to work; besides you have not got the right twist of the hand yet, my lad.  Pour for me, George.”  Robinson stirred and began to dissolve the three remainders, and every now and then with an artful turn of the hand he sent a portion of the muddy liquid out of the vessel.  At the end of this washing there remained scarce more than a good handful of clay at the bottom.  More water was poured on this.  “Now,” said Robinson, “we shall know this time, and if you see but one spot of yellow among it, we are all gentlemen and men of fortune.”

He dissolved the clay, and twisted and turned the vessel with great dexterity, and presently the whole of the clay was liquefied.

“Now,” said Robinson, “all your eyes upon it, and if I spill anything I ought to keep—­you tell me.”  He said this conceitedly but with evident agitation.  He was now pouring away the dirty water with the utmost care, so that anything, however small, that might be heavier than clay should remain behind.  Presently he paused and drew a long breath.  He feared to decide so great a question.  It was but for a moment; he began again to pour the dirty water away very slowly and carefully.  Every eye was diving into the vessel.  There was a dead silence!

Robinson poured with great care.  There was now little more than a wine-glassful left.

DEAD SILENCE!

Suddenly a tremendous cry broke from all these silent figures at the same instant.  A cry! it was a yell.  I don’t know what to compare it to.  But imagine that a score of wolves had hunted a horse for two centuries up and down, round and round, sometimes losing a yard, sometimes gaining one on him, and at last, after a thousand disappointments and fierce alternations of hope and despair, the horse had suddenly stumbled and the wild gluttons had pounced on him at last.  Such a fierce yell of triumph burst from four human bosoms now.

“Hurrah! we are the greatest men above ground.  If a hundred emperors and kings died to-day, their places could be filled to-morrow; but the world could not do without us and our find.  We are gentlemen—­we are noblemen—­we are whatever we like to be.  Hurrah!” cried Robinson.

“Hurrah!” cried George, “I see my Susan’s eyes in you, you beauty.”

“Hurrah!” whined Jem feebly, “let me see how much there is,” and clutching the calabash he fainted at that moment from loss of blood and fell forward insensible, his face in the vessel that held the gold, and his hands grasping it so tight that great force had to be used to separate them.

They lifted Jem and set him up again, and sprinkled water in his face.  The man’s thick lip was cut by the side of the vessel, and more than one drop of blood had trickled down its sides and mingled with the gold-dust.

No comment was made on this at the time.  They were so busy.

“There, he’s coming to, and we’ve no time to waste in nursing the sick.  Work!” and they sprang up on to the work again.