nd there bore traces of caked, dry mud that showed where a boot had
rested. The dogwood walled it closely on each side.

"That's my track home," the Hermit said. "Let me help you up, Miss
Norah."

He sprang up on the log as he spoke, and extended a hand to Norah, who
followed him lightly. Then the Hermit led the way along the log, which
was quite broad enough to admit of a wheelbarrow being drawn down its
length. He stopped where the butt of the old tree, rising above the
level of the trunk, barred the view, and pulling aside the dogwood,
showed rough steps, cut in the side of the log.

"Down here, Miss Norah."

In a moment they were all on the ground beside him--Wally, disdaining
the steps, having sprung down, and unexpectedly measured his length on
the earth, to the accompaniment of much chaff. He picked himself up,
laughing more than any of them, just as Norah popped her head through
the scrub that surrounded them, and exclaimed delightedly--.

"Why, here's the camp."

"I say," Jim said, following the Hermit into the little clearing,
"you're well planted here!"

The space was not very large--a roughly circular piece of ground, ringed
round with scrub, in which big gum trees reared their lofty heads. A
wattle tree stood in the centre, from its boughs dangling a rough
hammock, made of sacking, while a water bag hung from another convenient
branch. The Hermit's little tent was pitched at one side; across the
clearing was the rude fireplace that Norah had seen in the morning.
Everything, though tough enough, was very clean and tidy, with a certain
attempt at comfort.

The Hermit laughed.

"Yes, I'm pretty well concealed," he agreed. "You might be quite close
to the camp and never dream that it existed. Only bold explorers like
Miss Norah would have hit upon it from the side where she appeared to me
this morning, and my big log saves me the necessity of having a beaten
track home. I try, by getting on it at different points, to avoid a
track to the log, although, should a footmark lead anyone to it, the
intruder would never take the trouble to walk down an old bushhung
tree-trunk, apparently for no reason. So that I feel fairly secure about
my home and my belongings when I plan a fishing expedition or an
excursion that takes me any distance away."

"Well, it's a great idea," Jim said. "Of course, a beaten track to your
camp would be nothing more or less than an invitation to any swaggie or
black fellow to fol