One night he struck a fire in a lonely place, and sat down to eat his supper, just as the twilight gave place to the stars of night.
He was getting quite disheartened. "I must start for the camp in the morning," he said to himself, "'Tis no use of trying any longer."
He fell into a sad train of musing, from which he was aroused by the soft tinkling of a silver bell, and looking up he saw before him the dwarf Chinaman.
He wore the round hat, blue blouse, big pants, and pointed shoes of the Celestials, and his words fell upon Ching Chong's ear in the language of his native tongue. His face was wrinkled and sad-looking, yet there was a kindliness in its expression, and Ching Chong's heart warmed as he pleasantly asked, "Why so sorrowful to-night, my boy?"
Then Ching Chong told his story.
When he had finished the dwarf said: "Be thankful that you did not attempt to carry away any of the treasure."
"If you had taken but one ounce of gold the wand would have lost its power in your hand, and you would have been the slave of the giant as long as you lived, and after death your bones would have whitened the floor of the mountain cavern, instead of reposing in the dear native land."
"Your industry and perseverance shall now be rewarded. Lie down and sleep to-night upon this soft turf. In the morning rise and follow the direction of the divining-rod, and where it points downward strike your pick."
"Now good-night, my boy. In the days of your prosperity, sometimes think kindly of the poor dwarf of the mountains."