He kept on, though, with his eyes wandering in all directions, calling to mind all the different creatures which inhabited the land, and making up his mind that his next walk should be along the riverside.
“There’ll be birds in plenty there, and fish; and I may see the curious otter rat sort of thing, with its duck-like bill. If I could only find its nest of eggs!”
He laughed at the absurdity, as it seemed to him, of an animal having so strange a nature, and then began noting how different the trees were from those at home, so many being covered with a greyish-green and pinky foliage, while others seemed to have their leaves stuck on edgewise instead of lying flat, the consequence being that the shade they gave was rather thin.
“A mile north-west,” he thought: “I must have come as far as that, but I can see no precipices—only a hill or two yonder. There are some sheep grazing, though, over there. Father’s, of course. What a lot he must have!”
He went on in the supposed direction for another five minutes, noticing that the trees were closer together, and that there was more undergrowth, amongst which the creamy-fleeced sheep were wandering; and before entering this undergrowth he took a look round and behind to see that his way home was unmistakable.
“That can’t be the bush,” he said, with a laugh, as he threaded his way among the trees, and directly after caught sight of a man walking slowly along, evidently inspecting the sheep.
“Hi! Ahoy!” cried Nic; and the man turned. “Why, it’s Leather!”
He started off at a trot to join the man, who stood stock still awaiting his approach.
“’Morning, Mr Leather,” he cried, as he joined the man, who faced him with his brows knit, and a bitter, sour look in his countenance, as he said morosely:
“’Morning, sir. My name’s not Leather.”