“‘I say, Dad,’ he said presently, almost in a whisper, ‘it’s precious heavy, feel it;’ and he rose and gave me a round, brownish lump about the size of a very large apple, which he was holding in both his hands. I took it curiously and held it up to the light. It _was_ very heavy. The moonlight fell upon its rough and filth-encrusted surface, and as I looked, curious little thrills of excitement began to pass through me. But I could not be sure. “‘Give me your knife, Harry,’ I said. “He did so, and resting the brown stone on my knee I scratched at its surface. Great heavens, it was soft! “Another second and the secret was out, we had found a great nugget of pure gold, four pounds of it or more. ‘It’s gold, lad,’ I said, ‘it’s gold, or I’m a Dutchman!’ “Harry, with his eyes starting out of his head, glared down at the gleaming yellow scratch that I had made upon the virgin metal, and then burst out into yell upon yell of exultation, which went ringing away across the silent claims like shrieks of somebody being murdered. “‘Be quiet!’ I said; ‘do you want every thief on the fields after you?’ “Scarcely were the words out of my mouth when I heard a stealthy footstep approaching. I promptly put the big nugget down and sat on it, and uncommonly hard it was. As I did so I saw a lean dark face poked over the edge of the claim and a pair of beady eyes searching us out. I knew the face, it belonged to a man of very bad character known as Handspike Tom, who had, I understood, been so named at the Diamond Fields because he had murdered his mate with a handspike. He was now no doubt prowling about like a human hyæna to see what he could steal. “‘Is that you, ‘unter Quatermain?’ he said. “‘Yes, it’s I, Mr. Tom,’ I answered, politely. “‘And what might all that there yelling be?’ he asked. ‘I was walking along, a-taking of the evening air and a-thinking on the stars, when I ‘ears ‘owl after ‘owl.’ “‘Well, Mr. Tom,’ I answered, ‘that is not to be wondered at, seeing that like yourself they are nocturnal birds.’ “‘’Owl after ‘owl!’ he repeated sternly, taking no notice of my interpretation, ‘and I stops and says, “That’s murder,” and I listens again and thinks, “No, it ain’t; that ‘owl is the ‘owl of hexultation; some one’s been and got his fingers into a gummy yeller pot, I’ll swear, and gone off ‘is ‘ead in the sucking of them.” Now, ‘unter Quatermain, is I right? is it nuggets? Oh, lor!’ and he smacked his lips audibly--‘great big yellow boys--is it them that you have just been and tumbled across?’ “‘No,’ I said boldly, ‘it isn’t’--the cruel gleam in his black eyes altogether overcoming my aversion to untruth, for I knew that if once he found out what it was that I was sitting on--and by the way I have heard of rolling in gold being spoken of as a pleasant process, but I certainly do not recommend anybody who values comfort to try sitting on it--I should run a very good chance of being ‘handspiked’ before the night was over.