until the basin was filled up, and the lake
disappeared, as the stream flowed on its way uninterrupted and
undetained. As it was, the drift was very evenly enriched by the gold,
and each man, as he worked, was happy in his own surroundings, and so
did not bother about those of his neighbours. Only when each one began
to reach the limits of his claim, and away down the creek the water was
re-depositing the rejected sand and gravel from which the gold had been
washed, did any one have time to look around him. Then it was seen that
the population along the creek was the population of the dirt-holes of
Boulder Creek--the teeming thousands whom each one expected had arrived
long since, as foretold by Gleeson, were not to be seen. It was curious,
for every one had gold enough to keep them for a year with care, and
they had no doubt that the drift they had been working in, and had
worked out, was to be found anywhere for the looking. But they did not
look. Each man had his own fancy to follow, and with money, or its
equivalent, the following was easy.

A few, whose faith in the possibilities of the alleged reefs on Boulder
Creek was not to be shaken by mere alluvial success, went back with
their winnings, and used them to keep the mill going, while they drove
and tunnelled and sank in search of the phantom reefs. A few--a very
few--thought again of bygone dreams they had had about selections of
their own, and set out, bursting with good intentions of taking up land
somewhere. But the majority had no such thoughts and no such cares. They
had struck a patch; they had money in hand, the result of their toil on
the patch; and now they were free to spend it, without a thought or
care--spend it as freely as they had made it, spend it in the search of
a similarly engrossing delight to that which they had experienced in the
finding of it; and when it was gone--if any gave a moment's
consideration to the question, it was answered by mentally jerking the
head towards the creek--when it was gone, they would come back and get
some more. What comes easy, goes easy; and who cares for the morrow when
to-day overflows with content?

In search of the delights they needed, their energies were quickened by
the fact that Christmas and the New Year were approaching. A twelvemonth
before there had been a dearth of entertainment, more than usually
pronounced, in the neighbourhood of Boulder Creek, and not even the
combined persuasiveness of the inh