surrounded by stars and his
toe resting on the ground!

While Ned stood rooted to the spot, turning the subject over in his
mind, and trying to find out by what process of chemical or mechanical
action so remarkable a transformation could have been accomplished, he
became aware that his uncle, old Mr Shirley, was standing in the middle
of the cave regarding him with a look of mingled sarcasm and pity. He
observed, too, that his uncle was not made of gold, like the people
around him, but was habited in a yeomanry uniform. Mr Shirley had been
a yeoman twenty years before his nephew was born. Since that time his
proportions had steadily increased, and he was now a man of very
considerable rotundity--so much so, that his old uniform fitted him with
excessive tightness; the coat would by no means button across his
capacious chest, and, being much too short, shewed a very undignified
amount of braces below it.

"Uncle!" exclaimed Ned Sinton, rushing up to his relative, "what _can_
be the meaning of all this? Everybody seems to be mad. I think you
must be mad yourself, to come here such a figure as that; and I'm quite
sure _I_ shall go mad if you don't explain it to me. What _does_ it all
mean?"

"California," replied Mr Shirley, becoming more sarcastic in expression
and less pitiful.

"Why, that's what everybody cries," exclaimed Ned, who was now driven
almost to desperation. "My dear uncle, do look like yourself and
exercise some of your wonted sagacity. Just glance round at the cave
and the company, all made of gold, and look at me--gold too, if not
pinchbeck, but I'm not a good-enough judge of metals to tell which.
What _has_ done it, uncle? _Do_ look in a better humour, and tell me
how it has happened."

"California," replied Mr Shirley.

"Yes, yes; I know that. California seems to be everything here. But
how has it come about? Why are _you_ here, and what has brought me
here?"

"California," repeated Mr Shirley.

"Uncle, I'll go deranged if you don't answer me. What do you mean?"

"California," reiterated Mr Shirley.

At the same moment a stout golden lady with a filigree turban shouted,
"for ever!" at the top of a very shrill voice, and immediately the
company took up the cry again, filling the cave with deafening sounds.

Ned Sinton gave one look of despair at his relative--then turned and
fled.

"Put him out," shouted the company. "Down with the intruder!"

Ned cast a single glance bac