“Jus’ like a jungle!” shouted William. “Now we can imagine we’re in—in—in real gold diggin’ parts.”
They dug industriously for half an hour. William had a spade, “borrowed” from the gardener. (The gardener was at that minute hunting for it through toolhouse and greenhouse and garden. His thoughts were already turning William-wards in impotent fury). Ginger had a coal shovel with a hole in it rescued from the dust-bin. Henry had a small wooden spade abstracted from his little sister when her attention was engaged elsewhere, and Douglas had a piece of wood. They threw every spadeful of earth into the stream and churned it about with their spades.
“Seems a silly idea to me!” objected Henry again. “Jus’ makin’ mud of it! Seems to me you’re more likely to lose the gold, chuckin’ it into the water every time. I shun’t wonder ’f we’ve lost lots already, sinkin’ down to the bottom among the pebbles. We’ve not found much, anyway.”
“Well, I tell you it’s the right way,” said William impatiently. “It’s the way they do. I’ve read it. If it wasn’t the right way they wun’t do it, would they? D’you think the gold diggers out in—out in those places would do it if it wasn’t right?”
“Well, I’m gettin’ a bit tired of it anyway,” said Henry.
He voiced the general opinion. Even William’s enthusiasm was waning. It seemed a very hot and muddy way of getting gold ... and it didn’t even seem to get any.
Douglas had already laid aside his sodden stick and wandered up to the house. He was pressing his nose against a dirty, cracked window pane. Suddenly he shouted excitedly.
“I say ... a rat ... there’s a rat in this room!”
The Outlaws gladly threw away their spades and rushed to the window. There was certainly a rat. He sat up upon his hind legs and trimmed his whiskers, staring at them impudently. All thought of gold left the gold diggers.
“Open the window!”