“I’ve been a rolling stone, Harry,” said his companion. “It might have been different; but all that belong to me are dead. There’s nobody I feel an interest in except you. I’m going to keep track of you, and when I die, if I leave anything, you shall have it.”
“Don’t talk about dying,” said Harry. “Perhaps you’ll live longer than I.”
“Perhaps so; but I’m a deal older, my lad. There’s more chance for you.”
Bush was a man in the prime of life, and Harry built no hopes on this promise. He only thought that it was very kind, and, it being his nature to repay kindness with kindness, he felt drawn to his rough companion more closely on learning of his intention.
The next morning Bush returned to his digging on the hill-side, and Harry continued at the same place, meeting with a little success, but not much. However, there were some who worked for months with less encouragement, and finally met with a streak of luck. So Harry did not lose hope, though he felt that it was tantalizing and trying to the patience.
At nightfall Bush came back. Before he had come up to him, Harry read in his excited look that something had happened.
“What luck?” he asked.
Bush looked about him cautiously. There were two men within hearing distance, so he lowered his tone. He only uttered five words, but they were of such a character that Harry became no less excited than he.
“The dream has come true!”