almost entirely with Humans, and the queer creatures they have brought
into the country now-a-days. We may have to go a long way, so hop into my
pouch, and we will get on our way."

Once more Dot was in the kind Kangaroo's pouch. It was in the latter end
of autumn, and the air was so keen, that, as her torn little frock was now
very little protection to her against the cold, she was glad to be back in
that nice fur bag. She was used now to the springy bounding of the great
Kangaroo, and felt quite safe; so that she quite enjoyed the wonderful and
seemingly dangerous things the animal did in its great leaps and jumps.

With many rests and stops to eat berries or grass on their way, they
searched the bush for the rest of the day without finding the big bush
Wagtail. All kinds of creatures had seen him, or heard his strange
rattling, chattering song; but it always seemed that he had just flown off
a few minutes before they heard of him. It was most vexatious, and Dot
saw that another night must pass before they would be able to hear of her
home. She did not like to think of that, for she could picture to herself
all those great men, on their big rough horses, coming back to her
father's cottage that night, and how they would begin to be quiet and sad.

She thought it would not be half so bad to be lost, if people at home
could only know that one was safe and snug in a kind Kangaroo's pouch; but
she knew that her parents could never suppose that she was so well cared
for, and would only think that she was dying alone in the terrible
bush--dying for want of food and water, and from fear and exposure. How
strange it seemed that people should die like that in the bush, where so
many creatures lived well, and happily! But then they had not bush
friends to tell them what berries and roots to eat, and where to get
water, and to cuddle them up in a nice warm fur during the cold night. As