“But you say there is nothing below this pipe-clay.”
“No more there is.”
“Well, then.”
“But I don't say there is nothing above it!!!”
“Well, but there is nothing much above it except the gray, without 'tis this small streak of brownish clay; but that is not an inch thick.”
“George! in that inch lies all the gold we are likely to find; if it is not there we have only to go elsewhere. Now while I get water you stick your spade in and cut the brown clay away from the white it lies on. Don't leave a spot of the brown sticking to the white—the lower part of the brown clay is the likeliest.”
A shower having fallen the day before, Robinson found water in a hole not far distant. He filled his calabash and returned; meantime George and Jacky had got together nearly a barrowful of the brown or rather chocolate-colored clay, mixed slightly with the upper and lower strata, the gray and white.
“I want yon calabash and George's as well.” Robinson filled George's calabash two-thirds full of the stuff, and pouring some water upon it, said good-naturedly to Jem, “There—you may do the first washing, if you like.”
“Thank you, captain,” said Jem, who proceeded instantly to stir and dissolve the clay and pour it carefully away as it dissolved. Jacky was sent for more water, and this, when used as described, had left the clay reduced to about one-sixth of its original bulk.
“Now, captain,” cried Jem in great excitement.