got my own ideas about a girl
marrying--I had my own experience, and I say, give a girl the choice,
an' she'll make a good wife. That's my theory. So if my gal is set agin
a man, I'm set agin him. If she likes a partic'lar man, I'll like him
too. She won't cotton to any miserable, fish-backed beach-comber, I can
promise you. So mushy, flabby talk don't count with Rose; you can make
your mind clear on that point."

The young man burst into a laugh.

"Keep her tight, Pilot," he said, in a voice loud with merriment.
"When you know you've got a good daughter, stick to her. Chuck every
interloper over the bank. I should do so myself. But don't treat _me_ so
when I come with the nuggets."

"Now, look 'ee here," said the Pilot, as he rose cumbersomely, and took
Scarlett by the arm. "I've said you're in a bad streak o' luck, and I
believe it. But, mark me here: nothing would please me better than for
you to return with a hatful of gold. All I say is, if you're bent on
going, be careful; and, being in a bad streak, don't expect great
things."

"Good-bye," said Scarlett. "I'm in a bad streak? All right. When I work
out of that you'll be the first man I'll come to see."

"An' no one'll be gladder to see you."

Captain Summerhayes took Scarlett's hand, and shook it warmly.
"Good-bye," he said. "Good luck, and damn the bad streak."

Jack laughed, and walked down the winding path.

The Pilot stood on the bank, and looked after him.

"Hearten him up: that's the way," he said to himself, as he watched the
retreating figure; "but, for all that, he's like a young 'more-pork' in
the bush, with all his troubles to come."

CHAPTER X.

Hocussed.

In a small inner room in The Lucky Digger sat Benjamin Tresco and the
Prospector.

The goldsmith was happy. His glass was before him, between his teeth was
the stem of his pipe, and in consequence his face beamed with
contentment, pleasure, good humour, and indolence.

The digger, on the other hand, looked serious, not to say anxious,
and his manner was full of uneasiness. His glass stood untouched, his
half-finished pipe had gone out, and he could not sit still, but began
to pace backwards and forwards restlessly.

"I've put my foot in it," he said, pulling nervously at his bushy beard.
"I've quarrelled with the toffs of the town, and the best thing I can do
is to make a git. I'll start for the bush to-morrer."

"Now you're talking bunkum," said Tresco, as the smoke fro