g Dot's father and a few other Humans came back, and the
yellow sheep dog told me the last big party is to start at noon
to-morrow, and after that there will be no more attempt to find Dot.
Only the sheep dog said he heard his master say he would go on hunting
alone, until he found her body. I haven't been over there to-day,"
wound up the bird, "they are all so miserable and tired, it gave me the
blues yesterday."

"What are we to do? It is quite dark and late!" asked the Kangaroo.

"You had better stay here," counselled the Wagtail. "One night more or
less doesn't matter, and I don't like leaving Chip-pi-ti-chip at
night-time. She likes me to sing to her all night, because she is
nervous. I will go with you to-morrow morning early, if you will wait
here until then."

"Having found your lost way so far!" said the Kangaroo to Dot, "it
would be a pity to risk losing it again, so we had better wait for
Willy Wagtail to guide us to-morrow."

To tell the truth, the Kangaroo was very glad of the excuse to keep Dot
one night more before parting from her. "It will seem like losing my
little Joey again, when I am once more alone," she said sadly.

"But you will never go far away," said Dot. "I should cry, if I
thought you would never come to see me. You will live on our
selection, won't you?"

But the Kangaroo looked very doubtful, and said that she loved Dot, but
she was afraid of Humans and their dogs.

After a supper of berries and grass, Dot and the Kangaroo lay down for
the night in a little bower of bushes. But they talked until very
late, of how they were to manage to reach Dot's home without danger
from guns and dogs. At last when they tried to sleep, they could not
do so on account of Willy Wagtail's singing to his sweetheart, "Sweet
pretty creature! Sweet pretty creature!" without stopping for more than
five minutes at a time.

"I wonder Chip-pi-ti-chip doesn't get tired of that song," said Dot.

"She never does," yawned the Kangaroo, "and he never tires of singing
it."

"Sweet pretty creature," sang Willy Wagtail.

CHAPTER XIII.

Two men were walking near a cottage in the winter sun-light of the
early morning. There came to the door a young woman, who looked pale
and tired. She carried a bowl of milk to a little calf, and on her way
back to the cottage she paused, and shading her eyes, that were red
with weeping, lingered awhile, looking far and near. Then, with a
sigh, she returned