A grave was dug, about five feet deep--into which the body was lowered, and a sheet of bark laid over it. The earth was then filled in; and while this was being done, by one man, two others stood inside the grave, stamping upon the dirt, and treading it down, as firm as they could make it! What could have been their object in thus _packing_ the dead body, I never understood, unless it was done, under the impression, that the corpse might come to life again, without this precaution being taken to keep it under ground! Volume Three, Chapter II. FARRELL AND HIS WIFE, ONCE MORE. Three weeks "prospecting," at Slaty Creek, convinced me that it was not the place for a gold-digger to make his fortune, without the severest labour; and for this reason, I left it--returning to Ballarat. On arriving at the latter place, I went to see my old Californian acquaintance, Farrell. The instant I set eyes on him, and he on me, his features plainly proclaimed that he had something to tell me, which he deemed very amusing. "Farrell," said I, "you are working a rich claim; I see fortune written on your face." "Nothing of the kind," he answered; "I have just finished a tolerable spell of digging, it is true; and shall start for home to-morrow. But it ain't that; I have better news still." "Better news? What can it be!" "I've seen Foster, and my wife. Ha! ha! they've been living in sight of my tent for the last four months; and I never knew they were there until two days ago!" "Then you have seen Foster?" "Certainly, I have!" "What did you do to him?" "Nothing. Fate is giving me all the revenge I want; and I would not interfere with her designs--not for the world. In saying that Foster is the most miserable object I've seen for many years. I speak only the truth. He has a rheumatic fever, and hasn't been able to stir out of his tent for six weeks. He will probably never go out of it again--that is, alive. Now, I call that fun; isn't it?" "Not much for Foster, I should think. But how came you to find them?" "I was in my tent, one morning, when I heard a woman talking to my partner, who happened to be outside just by the door. The woman was wanting to get some washing to do. She said, that her husband had been a long time ill; and that they hadn't a shilling to live upon. I thought her voice sounded familiar to me; and, taking a peep out of the tent, I saw at once it was my runaway wife! I waited till she walked away; and then, slipping out, I followed her to her own tent. She went inside, without seeing me; and then I stepped in after her, and stood quietly surveying the guilty pair.