unk Sarah_
We was rollin' homeward bound,
When the bo'sun's bride fell over the side
And very near got drowned.
Rollin' home, rollin' home,
Rollin' home across the foam,
She had to swim to save her glim
And catch us rollin' home.'

It was a very long song, so the rest of it is left out here, but there
was a great deal of rolling and roaring in it, and they all joined in
the chorus. They were all singing away at the top of their pipe, as Bill
called it, when round a bend in the road they came on two low-looking
persons hiding behind a tree. One was a Possum, with one of those sharp,
snooting, snouting sort of faces, and the other was a bulbous,
boozy-looking Wombat in an old long-tailed coat, and a hat that marked
him down as a man you couldn't trust in the fowlyard. They were busy
sharpening up a carving knife on a portable grind-stone, but the moment
they caught sight of the travellers the Possum whipped the knife behind
him and the Wombat put his hat over the grindstone.

Bill Barnacle flew into a passion at these signs of treachery.

'I see you there,' he shouted.

'You can't see all of us,' shouted the Possum, and the Wombat added,
''Cause why, some of us is behind the tree.'

[Illustration]

Bill led the others aside, in order to hold a consultation.

'What on earth's to be done?' he said.

'We shall have to fight them, as usual,' said Sam.

'Why do you have to fight them?' asked Bunyip Bluegum.

'Because they're after our Puddin',' said Bill.

'They're after our Puddin',' explained Sam, 'because they're
professional puddin'-thieves.'

'And as we're perfessional Puddin'-owners,' said Bill, 'we have to fight
them on principle. The fighting,' he added, 'is a mere flea-bite, as the
sayin' goes. The trouble is, what's to be done with the Puddin'?'

'While you do the fighting,' said Bunyip bravely, 'I shall mind the
Puddin'.'

'The trouble is,' said Bill, 'that this is a very secret, crafty
Puddin', an' if you wasn't up to his game he'd be askin' you to look at
a spider an' then run away while your back is turned.'

'That's right,' said the Puddin', gloomily. 'Take a Puddin's character
away. Don't mind his feelings.'

[Illustration]

'We don't mind your feelin's, Albert,' said Bill. 'What we minds is your
treacherous 'abits.' But Bunyip Bluegum said, 'Why not turn him
upside-down and sit on him?'

[Illustration]

'What a brutal suggestion,' said the Puddin'; but no notice