SANTA CLAUS’
MESSAGE:
A CHRISTMAS STORY
BY
E. FRANKLIN TREGASKIS
AUTHOR OF
“BOYSIE IN THE BUSH,”
“SANTA CLAUS’ MESSAGE”
ETC.
COPYRIGHT
1921PRINTED BY T. J. HIGHAM
BLACKBURN, VICTORIA
AUSTRALIA
Twenty-foot was an almost deserted mining camp, and presented thedesolate appearance of such localities: A wide valley, honeycombed byold workings, and strewn with debris. On one side stretched miles ofbarren ranges, denuded of heavy trees, which had been felled to feed theboilers and timber the underground workings when some of the quartzreefs had been developed, after the alluvial gold had been won. Thesealso had petered out. On the other side of the valley were farms, forhere rich volcanic soil overlay the silurian formation. Consequently,there was still a small population in the district, which accounted forthe survival of a place of worship, a State school, general store,blacksmith’s shop, and, on a side road, a coffee palace. There were onlytwo men here now seeking gold, or fossicking, as it is called. One was arelic of the sixties, known behind his back as Bushranger Bill, or B.B.,who, needless to say, had never followed that occupation, and probably,had he visited the barber (who was also the local blacksmith) moreregularly, would never have been so designated. The second fossicker wasa man of different stamp. With his family, he lived about a mile abovethe township, at the head of the gully, in a comfortable, though small,cottage, surrounded by a garden. He had brought his young wife here inthe early seventies, just after the volcanic land had been madeavailable for selection, but too late to secure a holding, and here hehad remained, digging, with varying results. When there was enough rain,he sluiced the old workings, and, with the aid of one of the defunctcompanies’ dams, could win gold during several months of the year.During the dry spells he sought old tailings and headings among theabandoned holes, and had them carted to the sluice boxes. It was aprecarious existence (I use the word purposely). Still, to him, the lifepresented a certain fascination, and occasional “windfalls” lured himon.
At the time of which I write, funds were very low—in fact, there werenone. It had been a dry winter, the wash dirt put through was poor, andonly a portion had been treated, for Hampton had not been able to sluicesince August, and now, near the end of December, rain looked as far offas ever. Troubles seldom come singly. The local storekeeper had diedrecently, and his successor, who decided to run the business on citylines, discouraged long credit. Formerly, the family had the necessariesof life assured, for the old storekeeper knew that when the dirt paid,his account had been squared; but this stranger had intimated thatunless a payment was forthcoming the account would be closed. There werenow three children. The eldest, about ten years, was named Hope. Some ofthe schoolgirls, whose parents were in comfortable circumstances,sometimes called her “The folorn Hope”—but this is Christmas time; we