Eliza was waiting for them at the claim.

‘Do hurry!’ she called. ‘Where have you been?’

‘Nowhere,’ Henry said. ‘Look, Frank’s come to help us. Frank, this is my little sister, Eliza.’

Looking very solemn, Frank shook Eliza’s hand. ‘Sure, I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Eliza. How can I help? Shall I wash or dig?’

‘Dig,’ said Henry.

Eliza pouted. ‘I want to dig.’

‘But I need you to work the cradle,’ Henry pointed out. ‘You’re good at that now.’

‘I am, aren’t I?’ Eliza rolled her sleeves up, ready to start.

Henry handed Frank a shovel. ‘Good luck!’ He grabbed the other shovel and the pick, fitted with its new handle, and climbed down the ladder into the mine.

After weeks of digging Father had made the hole big enough to swing a pick comfortably. The mine was now almost twice as high as Henry was tall. Its sides were partly contained by timber planks to stop them from caving in.

Henry began to dig a new tunnel to one side. He shovelled the loosened dirt into a bucket, and when it was full he called out, ‘Haul away!’ Frank wound the bucket to the surface on a rough windlass, and emptied it onto the mullock heap.

It was hot down in the mine, and dust got in Henry’s eyes and up his nose. Soon every muscle in his body ached. Sweat trickled down his face, and flies crawled around in the sweat, driving him mad.

At midday they all sat down on the log for a rest. They shared a pie Frank had brought, and a bottle of rather warm water. Afterwards, Frank stretched himself out beside the mullock heap, tipped his hat over his face, and settled down for a snooze. Henry prodded him in the ribs with the toe of his boot. ‘Wake up!’

Frank yawned. ‘Let me have forty winks, will you? This is hard work we’re doing.’

‘And there’s more to do,’ Henry said.

He went back down the shaft into the mine. How could Father do this, day after day? The work was back-breaking.

The day dragged on, and the sun grew hotter and hotter. Bucket after bucket of dirt was lifted on the creaking windlass and disappeared over the lip of the mine. Then Henry shouted ‘Haul away!’ and the filled bucket just hung there, not moving. When he climbed halfway up the ladder to see what was going on, he saw Frank and Eliza happily splashing each other in the creek.

‘Lazy beggars,’ he said aloud. Wishing he was cooling down in the water with them, he went back and jabbed angrily at the wall of his new tunnel. The earth was dry, and so hard that even with the pick it was slow going. He must have come to a line of rock.

He chipped at the wall again, and the pick rang out with a smart chink. A small piece of rock fell to the ground.

Henry put down the pick and began to shovel the loose dirt out of the way. As he moved, a ray of sunlight shone directly on the piece of rock lying at his feet.

Something glittered.

Henry stared. He rubbed his eyes, filling them with grit. He blinked, hard. No, of course he’d imagined it. It was just the sun shining off a rough bit of the rock.

Or was it?

Henry picked up the piece of rock. He wet his finger with spit and wiped it across the bit that was shining. Whatever was in the rock kept on shining.

Henry had struck gold.