Native Companions
came daintily, and made graceful adieus to them both. Afterwards, they
spread their great, soft wings, and, stretching their long legs behind
them, wheeled upwards to the darkening sky. Then all the birds in the
bare trees preened their feathers, and settled down for the night; and
the Kangaroo took her little Human charge back to the bush, where there
was a cosy sheltering rock, under which to pass the night. Here they
lay down together, with the stars peeping at them through the branches
of the trees.

They had slept for a long time, as it seemed to Dot, when they were
awakened by a little voice saying,

"Wake up, Kangaroo! You are in danger. Get away, as soon as possible!"

The moon was shining fitfully, as it broke through swift flying clouds.
In the uncertain light, Dot could see a little creature near them, and
knew at once that it was an Opossum.

"What is the matter?" said the Kangaroo, softly. "Blacks!" said the
Opossum. And as it spoke, Dot heard a sound as of a half dingo dog
howling and snapping in the distance. As that sound was heard, the
Opossum made one flying leap to the nearest tree, and scrambled out of
sight in a moment.

"I wish he had told us a little more," said the Kangaroo. "Still, for
a possum, it was a good-natured act to wake me up. They are selfish,
spiteful little beasts, as a rule. Now I wonder where these blacks
are? I shall have to go a little way to sniff and listen. I won't go
far, so don't be afraid, but stay quietly here until I come back."

CHAPTER VI.

It was terrible to Dot to see the Kangaroo hop off into the dark bush,
and to find herself all alone; so she crawled out from under the ledge
of rock into the moonlight, and sat on a stone where she could see the
sky, and watch the black ragged clouds hurry over the moon. But the
bush was not altogether quiet. She could hear an owl hooting at the
moon. Not far off was a camp of quarrelsome Flying Foxes, and the
melancholy Nightjar in the distance was fulfilling its mission of
making all the bush creatures miserable with its incessant, mournful
"mo-poke! mo-poke!" As Dot could understand all the voices, it amused
her to listen to the wrangles of the Flying Foxes, as they ate the
fruit of a wild fig tree near by. She saw them swoop past on their
huge black wings with a solemn flapping. Then, as each little Fox
approached the tree, the Foxes who were there already screamed, and
swore