he tears came to his
eyes.

"I'd do more than that for you, Joe, and you know it."

Joe knew it. They were crossing the old goldfield now. There was a shaft
close to the path; it had fallen in, funnel-shaped, at the top, but was
still thirty or forty feet deep; some old logs were jammed across about
five feet down. Joe suddenly snatched the note from his pocket and threw
it in. It fluttered to the other side and rested on a piece of the old
timber. Bill saw it, but said nothing, and, seeing their father coming
home from work, they hurried on.

Joe was deep in trouble now. Bill tried to comfort and cheer him, but it
was no use. Bill promised never to run away from home any more, to go
to school every day, and never to fight, or steal, or tell lies. But Joe
had betrayed his trust for the first time in his life, and wouldn't be
comforted.

Some time in the night Bill woke, and found Joe sitting up in bed
crying.

"Why, what's the matter, Joe?"

"I never done a mean thing like that before," sobbed Joe. "I wished I'd
chucked meself down the shaft instead. The master trusted me, Will; an'
now, if he asks me to-morrow, I'll have to tell a lie."

"Then tell the truth, Joe, an' take the hidin'; it'll soon be over--just
a couple of cuts with the cane and it'll be all over."

"Oh, no, it won't. He won't never trust me any more. I've never been
caned in that school yet, Will, and if I am I'll never go again. Oh! why
will you run away from home, Will, and play the wag, and steal, and
get us all into such trouble? You don't know how mother takes on about
it--you don't know how it hurts father! I've deceived the master, and
mother and father to-day, just because you're so--so selfish," and he
laid down and cried himself to sleep.

Bill lay awake and thought till daylight; then he got up quietly, put on
his clothes, and stole away from the house and across the flat, followed
by the dog, who thought it was a 'possum-hunting expedition. Bill wished
the dog would not be quite so demonstrative, at least until they got
away from the house. He went straight to the shaft, let himself down
carefully on to one of the old logs, and stooped to pick up the note,
gleaming white in the sickly summer daylight. Then the rotten timber
gave way suddenly, without a moment's warning.

. . . . .

They found him that morning at about nine o'clock. The dog attracted
the attention of an old fossicker passing to his work. The letter w