She was afraid she must be very stupid, for she hadn't understood anything except that Willy Wagtail could help them to find her way.

"That is the beauty of it all," said the Kangaroo, "the Platypus is so learned and so instructive, that no one tries to understand it; it is not expected that anyone should."

CHAPTER V.

"Now we must find Willy Wagtail," said the Kangaroo. "The chances are Click-i-ti-clack, his big cousin who lives in the bush, will be able to tell us where to find him; for he doesn't care for the bush, and lives almost entirely with Humans, and the queer creatures they have brought into the country now-a-days. We may have to go a long way, so hop into my pouch, and we will get on our way."

Once more Dot was in the kind Kangaroo's pouch. It was in the latter end of autumn, and the air was so keen, that, as her torn little frock was now very little protection to her against the cold, she was glad to be back in that nice fur bag. She was used now to the springy bounding of the great Kangaroo, and felt quite safe; so that she quite enjoyed the wonderful and seemingly dangerous things the animal did in its great leaps and jumps.

With many rests and stops to eat berries or grass on their way, they searched the bush for the rest of the day without finding the big bush Wagtail. All kinds of creatures had seen him, or heard his strange rattling, chattering song; but it always seemed that he had just flown off a few minutes before they heard of him. It was most vexatious, and Dot saw that another night must pass before they would be able to hear of her home. She did not like to think of that, for she could picture to herself all those great men, on their big rough horses, coming back to her father's cottage that night, and how they would begin to be quiet and sad.

She thought it would not be half so bad to be lost, if people at home could only know that one was safe and snug in a kind Kangaroo's pouch; but she knew that her parents could never suppose that she was so well cared for, and would only think that she was dying alone in the terrible bush—dying for want of food and water, and from fear and exposure. How strange it seemed that people should die like that in the bush, where so many creatures lived well, and happily! But then they had not bush friends to tell them what berries and roots to eat, and where to get water, and to cuddle them up in a nice warm fur during the cold night. As she thought of this she rubbed her face against the Kangaroo's soft coat, and patted her with her little hands; and the affectionate animal was so pleased at these caresses, that she jumped clean over a watercourse, twenty feet at least, in one bound.

It was getting evening time, and the sun was setting with a beautiful rosy colour, as they came upon a lovely scene. They had followed the watercourse until it widened out into a great shallow creek beside a grassy plain. As they emerged from the last scattered bushes and trees of the forest, and hopped out into the open side of a range of hills, miles and miles of grass country, with dim distant hills, stretched before them. The great shining surface of the creek caught the rosy evening light, and every pink cloudlet in the sky looked doubly beautiful reflected in the water. Here and there out of the water arose giant skeleton trees, with huge silver trunks and contorted dead branches. On these twisted limbs were numbers of birds; Shag, blue and white Cranes, and black and white Ibis with their bent bills. Slowly paddling on the creek, with graceful movements, were twenty or thirty black Swans, and in and out of their ranks, as they passed in stately procession, shot wild Ducks and Moor Hens, like a flotilla of little boats amongst a fleet of big ships. All these birds were watching a pretty sight that arrested Dot's attention at once. By the margin of the creek, where tufted rushes and tall sedges shed their graceful reflection on the pink waters, were a party of Native Companions dancing.

"In these times it is seldom we can see a sight like this," said the Kangaroo. "The water is generally too unsafe for the birds to enjoy themselves. It often means death to them to have a little pleasure."

As the Kangaroo spoke, one of the Native Companions caught sight of her, and leaving the dance, opened her wings, and still making dainty steps with her long legs, half danced and half flew to where the Kangaroo was sitting.

"Good evening, Kangaroo," she said, gracefully bowing; "will you not come a little nearer to see the dance?" Then the Native Companion saw Dot in the Kangaroo's pouch, and made a little spring of surprise. "Dear me!" she said, "what have you in your pouch?"

"It's a Human," said the Kangaroo, apologetically; "it's quite a little, harmless one. Let me introduce you."

So Dot alighted from the pouch, and joined in the conversation, and the Native Companion was much interested in hearing her story.

"Do you dance?" asked the Native Companion, with a quick turn of her head, on its long, graceful neck. Dot said that she loved dancing. So the Native Companion took her down to the creek, and all the other Companions stopped dancing and gathered round her, whilst she was introduced, and her story told. Then they spread their wings, and with stately steps escorted her to the edge of the water, whilst the Kangaroo sat a little way off, and delightedly watched the proceedings.

Dot didn't understand any of the figures of the dance; but the scenery and the pink sunset were so beautiful, and the Native Companions were so elegant and gay, that Dot caught up her ragged little skirts in both hands and followed their movements with her bare brown feet as best she could, and enjoyed herself very much. To Dot, the eight birds that took part in the entertainment were very tall and splendid, with their lovely grey plumage and greeny heads, and she felt quite small as they gathered round her sometimes, and enclosed her within their outspread wings. And how beautiful their dancing was! How light their dainty steps as their feet scarcely touched the earth; and what fantastic measures they danced—advancing, retreating, circling round—with their beautiful wings keeping the rhythm of their feet! There was one figure that Dot thought the prettiest of all—when they danced in line at the margin of the water; stepping, and bowing, and gracefully gyrating to their shadows, which were reflected with the pink clouds of evening on the surface of the creek.

Dot was very sorry, and hot, and breathless, when the dance came to an end. The sun had been gone a long time, and all the pink shades had slowly turned to grey; the creek had lost its radiant colour, and looked like a silver mirror, and so desolate and sombre, that no one could have imagined it to have been the scene of so much gaiety shortly before.