'No pick or shovel?'
The stranger shook his head sadly, and was turning away, when the gold-digger said:
'Well, mate, the place is open to all; but we want to keep ourselves as quiet as possible.'
'I shall tell no one.'
He turned from the worker, and sat himself upon the ground at a short distance from the human hive, out of hearing. The gold-diggers spoke to one another, and looked at him, but made no advance towards him. The women also raised their heads and cast many a curious glance at the stranger, who sat apart from them. He, on his part, sent many a wistful glance in their direction, and watched the fires and the children playing. Behind the hills sank the sun, and night drained the fiery peaks of every drop of blood. Before the hills grew white, the gold-diggers left off work, and contrary to their usual custom, took their buckets and tools to their tents, and took the ropes from their windlasses. There was a stranger near them.
'He seems decent,' said the women.
'You can never tell,' replied the men, shaking their heads in doubt.
Now and then they came from their tents to see if the stranger were still there. He had not moved. It was from no want of humanity that they did not call to him, and offer him food and a shelter. How did they know that he did not belong to a party of bushrangers, whose object was plunder? They let off their firearms and reloaded them. But if they had known this man's heart and mind; if they had known that he was penniless, friendless, that his feet were sore, and that he had not tasted food since yesternight; if they had known the trouble of his soul, and the dim hope which kept up his heart and his strength--they would have played the part of good Samaritans without a moment's hesitation. The darker shadows came down upon the valleys, and wrapt the man and his misery from their gaze and comprehension. They could see the faint outline of his form: nothing more. What were his thoughts during this time? 'They suspect me; it is natural. If I can keep my strength, I may find gold tomorrow, and then they will sell me food perhaps. If not----there are women among them. I may be able to touch their hearts.' He gazed around and above him--at the solemn hills, at the solemn sky, and thought, 'For myself I should be content to die here, and now. But for her--for her! Give me strength, great God--sustain me!' He knelt, and buried his face in his hands; and when the moon rose, as it did soon after, it shone upon his form. A woman, standing at the door of her tent, was the first to see him in his attitude of supplication. She hurried in to her husband, who was nursing a little daughter on his knee.
'David,' she said, 'that man is praying. There can be no harm in him, and he has no shelter. He may be in want of food.'