h. 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, and 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?" asked 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 those 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 in dreadfully bad
language at the visitor. For every little Fox on the tree was afraid