"Between fifty and sixty miles."
"Do we pass near the town?"
"No, we branch off near Mount Macedonskirt, the range of mountains by that name, and which you can see in the distance; cross a barren tract of country, where no water but sink-holes is to be found for forty miles; strike the mines of Victoria; and then we are near the gold fields of Ballarat."
"Where I hope we shall make a fortune and return to Melbourne in less than six months," Fred cried.
"Amen," ejaculated Smith; but he smiled as he thought what a slight chance there was of our prayers being answered.
We met some half a dozen teams on their way back to Melbourne from the mines, and we surveyed the drivers as we would rare animals, for they were covered with a thick coating of white dust that had filled their hair and whiskers, and looked as though a bushel of corn meal had been scattered over their heads.
Each cart contained two or more invalids, who appeared, by their dejected air, to have taken farewell of the world, and didn't think it worth while attempting to live any longer; and when a question was asked them, it was with great reluctance that they returned an answer, and if they did speak, it was in tones so faint that with difficulty they could be understood.
Three times did the convict stop his cart to supply some little luxury to the invalids; and while he declined payment for his refreshments, it did not prevent him from requesting the sick men to say, when they reached Melbourne, that they had been befriended by himself. We were struck by this peculiarity, and as soon as the team's moved on, we resolved to inquire the reason.
"Why are you so particular that those men should mention your name for the charities that you perform?" asked Fred.
Smith smiled, but it was of the melancholy sort of mirth, and did not come from his heart. He hesitated, as though considering whether he should make a full expression or reserve his confidence. At length he said,—