"I'll tell you, my lad," answered the Scotchman. "I would rather live in Scotland than anywhere else on God's footstool; but I won't be denying that it is a poor place for a man to make money, if compared with a new country like this."
"There are no gold-mines, I suppose, sir?"
"No; and the land is not as rich as the land here. It is rich in historical associations; but a man, you know, can't live on those," he added shrewdly.
"No, I should think not," said Tom. "It would be pretty dry diet. How long have you been in the country, Mr. Ferguson?"
"A matter of three months only, my lad. It's the gold-mines that brought me over. I read of them in the papers at home, and I took the first ship across the Atlantic."
"Have you a family, Mr. Ferguson?"
"I've got an old mother at home, my lad, who looks to me for support. I left fifty pounds with her when I came away. It'll last her, I'm thinkin', till I can send her some from California."
"Then Mr. Ferguson, you are like me," said Tom. "I am going to California to work for my father and mother. Father is poor, and I have brothers and sisters at home to provide for. I hope I shall succeed, for their sake."
"You will, my lad," said the Scotchman, in a tone of calm confidence. "It is a noble purpose, and if you keep to it God will bless you in your undertaking, and give you a good fortune."
"I hope we shall both be fortunate."