your hand."

That last order was hard, for it was very easy to make a catch at the
pommel so as to hold on.

"Sit up, boy. Don't bend forward. It hurts you a little at first, but
you get more and more used to it every hour. Now, then, we'll walk
gently past the waggon. Don't let the men think you have never been on
a horse before."

The horses' pace being so much faster than that of the bullocks, they
were soon by, after the doctor had spoken in a friendly way to the dogs,
given his men an order or two, and then cast a critical eye over the
sleek, patient oxen, which trudged along with swinging tails and horns
giving a smart rap now and then as they encountered their yoke-fellows.

The track was plainly marked, but it had no pretence of being a road as
it went on and on, to be lost in the distance of the bright grey
morning. Away to their left was the harbour, with its shipping, and
beyond it the ocean; the town lay behind them, and on either side of the
track with its lines of ruts there were plenty of green pasture and
trees scattered here and there--monsters some seemed to be--and in the
openings were great patches of short, scrubby growth.

All at once, as Nic was thinking how peculiar the trees looked in
colour, there came a loud musical series of notes from a grove-like
patch, in which the boy immediately concluded there must be a house.

"Hear that?" said the doctor.

"Yes, father, plainly."

"Well, what do you make of it?"

"Some one playing a kind of flute."

"No, Nic. That is our Australian magpie."

"Magpie?" cried Nic, forgetting his uncomfortable seat; "but magpies at
home in Kent have a harsh kind of laugh."

"Like that?" said the doctor, as a loud, hoarse chuckle arose.

"No: harsher and noisier. Was that the magpie?"

"No, Nic; that was our laughing jackass."

"What! A donkey?"

"No; there he sits, on that bare limb," cried the doctor, pointing up to
a big, heavy-headed, browny-grey bird, which seemed to be watching them,
with its great strong beak on one side.

Nic examined the bird carefully.

"You would not think that was a kingfisher?" said the doctor.

"No," cried Nic; "though the shape is something like, all but the tail,
which is so much bigger."

"But it is a kingfisher all the same, though he does not fish as his
ancestors may have done. He lives on beetles, lizards, mice, and frogs,
and that sort of game. There's your flute-player again."

For the sweet, me