“No; we have neither of us been,” said the merchant.
“Are there any of your name as has been?” asked the other.
“None; I can answer for it,” was the reply. “My sons have none of them been; and we, with my nephew here, are all the Oliphants in this colony. No Oliphant has been to the diggings from South Australia.”
The man sighed deeply.
“Can you make anything out o’ that?” he asked, handing a piece of soiled paper to Mr Oliphant. “I can’t read myself, but you can read it.”
The merchant took the piece of paper and examined it. It had once been part of an envelope, but had been torn and rolled up to light a pipe, and one end, where it had been used, was burned. The words left on it were all incomplete, except the names “Oliphant” and “Australia.” What was left was as follows:—
yes,
Oliphant,
delaide,
th Australia.
Both uncle and nephew scrutinised it attentively. At last Hubert said,—
“I can tell now who this belonged to.”
“Who?” cried the man, eagerly.