Our treasury consists of half-a-sovereign and an old watch, a new hat and a clean shirt—what matter if he levy on these? He has a dog, however,—that is a good sign. Bushrangers rarely travel with dogs. And the weapon is a stick. Ha! it is well. Only an official connected with the railway line, awaiting the mailman. We interchange courtesies, and are invited to the camp with proffer of hospitality. We feel compelled to decline. We may not halt by any wayside arbour.
We reach St. Bago Hospice at Laurel Hill before lunch time. Sixteen miles over a road not too smooth. Really, we have performed the stage with ridiculous ease. We are half tempted to go on to Tumut; but twenty-eight miles seems a longish step. Let us not be imprudently enthusiastic. We decide to remain. The hospice has put on a summer garb, and is wholly devoid of snowballs or other wintry emblems. The great laurel, the noble elm, the hawthorn, are in full leaf and flower. The orchard trees are greenly budding. At the spring well in the creek five crimson lories are drinking. They stand on a tray, so to speak, of softest emerald moss, walking delicately; all things tell of summer.
During the afternoon, so fresh did we feel that we took a stroll of five miles, and visited the nearest farmer. As we stepped along the red-soiled path, amid the immense timber, we realised the surroundings of the earlier American settlers. Hawk-eye might have issued from the ti-tree thicket by the creek and chuckled in his noiseless manner, while he rested la longue carabine on a fallen log. Uncas and Chingachgook would, of course, have turned up shortly afterwards.
The tiny creek speeds swiftly onward over ancient gold-washings and abandoned sluice channels. Tracks of that queer animal the wombat (Phascolomys) near his burrows and galleries are frequent. His habitat is often near the sea, but here is proof that he can accommodate himself to circumstances. Easily-excavated soil like this red loam is necessary for his comfort apparently. Ferns are not objected to. Our host at Bago informed us that one dull winter's evening he observed two animals coming towards him through the bush. He took them to be pigs, until, shooting with both right and
