“Bound for Kaliforny, air ye?”
“Yes; that’s the country for me.”
“If what you say’s true, it oughter be the country for more’n you. Air ye sure ’beout it?”
“Seems believing. Look at this.”
The man who gave utterance to the old saw pulled from his pocket a small packet done up in fawn skin, and untying the string, exhibited some glistening nodules of a yellowish colour.
“True; seein’ air believin’, they do say, an’ feelin’ air second nater. Let’s lay my claw on’t.”
The packet was passed into his hands.
“Hang me eft don’t look like gold! an’ it feel like it, too; an’, durn me, ef’t don’t taste like it.”
This after he had put one of the nodules in his mouth, and rolled it over his tongue, as if testing it.
“It is gold,” was the positive rejoinder.