A notch on a withered stick he cut—
"That's number one," said he,
"But, if I live 'till to-morrow's sun
"Shall gild the blue-gum tree,
"With more, I'll stake my soul, that cake
"Of mine will disagree."
Then down he sat by his lonely hut
That stood by the lonely track,
To the lakelet nigh, and a horse came by
With a horse-man on his back.