anding. He
now perceived that, by a slight deviation from his course, he might have
avoided the crossing which had nearly cost him his life; though now it
was evident, to reach his destination, he would have to cross it again.
Not wishing, however, to risk his life a second time in so short an
interval; and feeling himself perfectly inadequate to the task, even if
he desired it; he determined to follow the creek up its course, in the
hope of meeting with shelter of some sort. He therefore resumed his
weary travelling, skirting the bank of the stream; and occasionally
"cooeying," to ascertain if any human being was within hearing.

Thus he had proceeded for some time, perfectly disheartened and almost
desponding, when he espied on a little knoll, a short distance from the
creek, a small slab hut. Humble and untenable as the refuge appeared, no
shipwrecked mariner, with the prospect of being rescued from a watery
grave, by the opportune assistance of some life-boat, did ever hail his
deliverance with greater joy and gratitude, than did William the sight
of this "humpie." It looked uninhabited and perfectly deserted; but
still, wretched as it appeared, it promised shelter for himself and his
beast; and would enable him in all probability to make a fire and
refresh his weary limbs. At the same time he knew that, even if the
place were deserted, there would be sure to be some signs of settlement
near, and possibly a track to the head station of the run on which it
was situated.

CHAPTER IX.

"Methinks it were a happy life,
To be no better than a homely swain;

* * * *

See how the morning opes her golden gates,
And takes her farewell of the glorious sun."

HENRY VI., _Act_ 2 _of Part_ 3.

It was then with a gladdened heart that William approached the hut,
which was of dimensions little larger than a good-sized dog kennel; and
when he reached the aperture that served for an entrance, and gazed at
the interior, he was not a little surprised to find that it was habited,
though the inhabitant was not visible. The interior was as miserable
looking as could be imagined; the floor, or rather the ground on which
it stood, was covered with as much water as the earth outside; and the
slabs, which formed its walls, had shrunk with their exposure to the sun
and weather since they had been first put together, and left long and
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