last night about being lost in the bush?"

"Forgot!" cried Norman, after searching his pockets. "Have you got it,
Tim?"

Tim put his hand in his pocket, and shook his head.

"Have you, Rifle?"

"No."

"Of course he has not," said the captain; "and it is the most important
thing of your outfit.

"Here it is," he continued, producing a little mariner's compass; "and
now be careful. You ought to have had three. Good-bye, boys. Back
within the fortnight, mind."

Promises, more farewells, cheers, and twenty minutes later the boys
turned their horses' heads on the top of Wallaby Range, as they had
named the hills behind the house, at the last point where they could get
a view of home, pausing to wave their three hats; and then, as they rode
off for the wilds, Shanter, who was driving the packhorse, uttered a
wild yell, as he leaped from the ground, and set all the horses capering
and plunging.

"What did you do that for?" said Norman, as soon as he could speak for
laughing, the effects on all three having been comical in the extreme.

"Corbon budgery. All good. Get away and no work."

"Work?" cried Rifle. "Why, you never did any work in your life."

"Baal work. Mine go mumkull boomer plenty hunt, find sugar-bag. Yah!"

He uttered another wild shout, which resulted in his having to trot off
after the packhorse, which took to its heels, rattling the camping
equipage terribly, while the boys restrained their rather wild but
well-bred steeds.

"Old Tam's so excited that he don't know what to do," cried Tim.

"Yes. Isn't he just like a big boy getting his first holidays."

"Wonder how old he is," said Rifle.

"I don't know. Anyway between twenty and a hundred. He'll always be
just like a child as long as he lives," said Norman. "He always puts me
in mind of what Tim was six or seven years ago when he first came to
us."

"Well, I wasn't black anyhow," said Tim.

"No, but you had just such a temper; got in a passion, turned sulky,
went and hid yourself, and forgot all about it in half an hour."

"I might be worse," said Tim, drily. "Heads!" he shouted by way of
warning as he led the way under a group of umbrageous trees, beyond
which they could see Shanter still trotting after the packhorse, which
did not appear disposed to stop.

"Well, I'm as glad we've got off as Shanter is," said Rifle as they
ambled along over the rich grass. "I thought we never were going to
have a real expedition."