arkable spectacle, and so close and
reminiscent of black fellow that my first act was to undo the sides and
let the fresh air play through. I counted myself very lucky to get off
as lightly as I did--had I returned an hour later none of my goods and
chattels would have been left."

"What about the tucker?" Harry asked; "did they get away with the bag
they'd stowed it in?"

"Not they!" said the Hermit; "they were far too scared to think of bags
or tucker. They almost fell over it in their efforts to escape, but
neither of them thought of picking it up. It was hard luck for them,
after they'd packed it so carefully."

"Is that how you looked at it?" Jim asked, laughing.

"Well--I tried to," said the Hermit, laughing in his turn. "Sometimes it
was pretty hard work--and I'll admit that for the first few days my own
misfortunes were uppermost."

"But you didn't lose your tucker after all, you said?" queried Wally. "I
thought they left the bag?"

"They did," the Hermit admitted. "But have you ever explored the
interior of a black fellow's bag, Master Wally? No? Well, if you had,
you would understand that I felt no further hankerings over those
masterpieces of the cook's art. I'm not extra particular, I believe, but
I couldn't tackle them--no thanks! I threw them into the scrub--and then
washed my hands!"

"Poor you!" said Norah.

"Oh, I wasn't so badly off," said the Hermit. "They'd left me the
plum-duff, which was hanging in its billy from a bough. Lots of duff--I
had it morning, noon and night, until I found something fresh to
cook--and I haven't made duff since. And here we are at the creek!"

CHAPTER IX. FISHING

The party had for some time been walking near the creek, so close to it
that it was within sound, although they seldom got a glimpse of water,
save where the ti-tree scrub on the bank grew thinner or the light wind
stirred an opening in its branches. Now, however, the Hermit suddenly
turned, and although the others failed to perceive any track or
landmark, he led them quickly through the scrub belt to the bank of the
creek beyond.

It was indeed an ideal place for fishing. A deep, quiet pool, partly
shaded by big trees, lay placid and motionless, except for an occasional
ripple, stirred by a light puff of wind. An old wattle tree grew on the
bank, its limbs jutting out conveniently, and here Jim and Wally
ensconced themselves immediately, and turned their united attention to
business. For a