"There isn't much difference in places," said Fletcher. "We may as well stay here."
"Then why was it deserted?" suggested John Miles, dubiously. "That's rather against it, isn't it, captain?"
"Not necessarily, Miles. You've been on berrying parties, haven't you, when at home?"
"Many a time."
"You've noticed that many of the pickers leave good places, just from love of novelty, and wander about the field, often faring worse than if they remained where they were?"
"That's so, captain."
"Then let us give this place a try. We'll make more working steady in a medium place than wandering here, there, and everywhere."
So the whole party agreed to "give the place a try."
There had been no brilliant success as yet, but fair luck. In six days Tom had washed out twenty-five dollars' worth of gold-dust, in spite of awkwardness and inexperience. Others had done better, but poor Lawrence Peabody had barely five dollars' worth to show. It must be said, however, that he had not averaged more than two or three hours of real labor in every twenty-four. He spent the rest of the time in wandering about aimlessly, or sitting down and watching the labors of his companions, while he enlivened them by pathetic lamentations over his unfortunate position, so far away from Boston and the refining influences of civilization.
A little transcript of a conversation between Tom and himself will throw light upon the characters of both.