“Is that the way to spell it?” enquired Grace.
“We must not make remarks about kind friends,” admonished Hope. “Santa Claus is very, very old, and perhaps they spelled that way when he was a boy in the Reindeer country.”
“Of course,” agreed Joy. “Did you see the sledge and reindeer?”
“No; I think he must have left them on the back track,” she replied.
“Perhaps he got bogged. Pointer’s father did last winter,” put in Joy.
“Not this weather,” said Grace. “Besides, reindeers are very strong. Think what big horns they have.”
“Well, I expect he just put on their nosebags, with moss in them, and gave them a rest. I’m sure he is a kind man, for he loves children, and I believe he put some gold here for us to buy things for mother. Now you can tell that horrid Mabel that you have seen Santa Claus. She said it was all made up.” This from Joy.
The slate floor was only a couple of inches in depth; then came some rubble “headings.” These Hope put carefully aside. Then came the wash dirt. She understood enough of the art to seek here for the gold, so, taking a double handful, and spreading it on the notice board, she examined it, in the lightest position, under the shaft. Joy was the first to cry “nugget.” The children had often seen such when the father had been “cleaning up” the sluice boxes. As they spread and re-spread the wash, each particle of gold was deposited in a pannikin. Just as the first lot of wash was being scraped into the bucket, a voice called out: “Below, there! Are you stealing your father’s gold? I’m coming down.”
“We don’t want you! Go away!” shouted Hope. Then, putting the pannikin in the hole she had dug, she whispered to the twins: “Go and sit there, and don’t move for anything.”
“I’m not frightened of girls. I’m coming down, anyway.” The speaker, Master Pierpoint, a boy of about twelve, evidently led the simple life, judging by his apparel, which consisted of a striped blue cotton shirt, rather small, cut-down moleskin pants, much too large, and one hayband suspender.