"Friday bery unlucky day, massa," he said. "But," answered Brown, laughing, "if it's an unlucky day for leaving this place, I suppose it's just as unlucky for staying and doing another turn at the pickax." "Don't know that, massa," said the negro, "but Friday bery unlucky day." "I'll tell you what, then," continued Brown, "suppose we take Sambo's advice, for once in a way, Smith, and put off moving to new quarters till the day after to-morrow. We can spend to-morrow in digging the ground about that little creek three miles to the east of this. You remember our passing the spot once on our way home after a hard day's work." "Perfectly! A miserable, unlikely-looking place enough; I don't fancy if we dug for a twelvemonth we should ever get any good out of it. However, we've wasted so many days that we can't grudge one more, so I'm quite agreeable to stop." "So be it, then," answered Brown. "Sambo, get our tools in order before you go to bed, and be sure you call us early to-morrow morning." The two friends flung themselves down upon a couple of rough straw mattresses, and the negro brought out a heap of dried grass and withered leaves which served him as a bed, and upon which he laid himself down after carefully preparing the tools for the morning's work. The two diggers, before they lay down, offered up a short but heartfelt prayer, that heaven would be pleased to smile upon their honest endeavors and bless their labors. During the eight months in which they had dwelt in that dreary region they had never once failed to make this supplication, and, fruitless as their toil had been hitherto, their faith had never failed them. They still trusted that a divine and gracious Providence would, in due time, reward their efforts. At daybreak the next morning the three men set out, and walked to the creek at which they were to work before they eat their rough breakfast. Then, after offering up another prayer, they took their spades and pickaxes and went to work with a will. But the day wore on and no result attended their labors. The negro, Sambo, worked untiringly, and cheered his masters' toil by his merry songs and grotesque capers. It grew toward evening, and Brown proposed that they should collect their tools and walk homeward, but Smith was anxious to work for half an hour longer, and his companion was too good-natured to oppose his fancy. The half hour had nearly expired, the dusk was rapidly gathering around them, the lower branches of the trees were streaked with crimson and gold by the last rays of the setting sun, and Brown was thinking sadly how many a day such as this they had wasted, and how many a sun had gone down upon their disappointment, when he was aroused from his reverie by a loud exclamation from Smith, and a wild shout of joy from the negro. His companion's spade had struck against a nugget of gold.