The boy under the tree ceased sobbing and looked up. “It’s a fine thing to laugh when one’s in trouble,” he said, espying the long ugly beak of [[313]]the scoffer pointing down towards him. “I’ll bet if I only had my Shanghai I’d soon make you laugh t’other side of your mouf.”
“Ho-ho-ho!” chuckled the jackass in reply.
“Oh, it’s no use troubling about a silly bird,” muttered the child sadly. “He can’t help me. Oh, I wish he could!” And the sobbing recommenced more intensely than before.
Poor Berty Wake was lost in the bush—lost utterly. For two whole days the child had wandered on and on hoping to find his way back again to that section on the back blocks which his father farmed and where he had been born. For two days the child had not seen a sign of civilisation, nor any form of life whatsoever, save a native bear, one or two wallabies, and this mocking jackass, who seemed to add to the poor wanderer’s grief by its unseemly laughter.
Berty, who was one of five brothers, had been sent early in the morning, by his father, to hunt up an old roan mare, who had a great love for straying away in the bush. The boy had been diligent in his search, but could find no trace of the pony anywhere; and when he began to track back home again night came on, and the boy found he was astray in the trackless waste, with not a single point or landmark to guide him. [[314]]
Poor Berty! how he coo-eed and called on his mother and his father, and then cried himself to sleep under the big gum-trees, and when daylight came again walked on and on, bravely hoping to find the track to guide him home again. No use though. Here he was the beginning of the third day, tired and hungry and much deeper in the lonesome wilderness than before.
“Ho-ho-ho!” laughed the jackass.
“If I only had something to eat—just a piece of bread—wouldn’t it be nice!” said the lost one, sighing ruefully.
“Or a mince-pie!” cried a voice from the tree-top.
Berty Wake jumped to his feet. “Who’s that?” he cried.