“Rum thing, it always seems to me that there’s nothing here except pigs. There must be, farther in the woods. Mind that hole, my lad.”
Don carefully avoided stepping into a bubbling patch of hot mud right in their path, and, wondering what would be the consequences of a step in, he went on, in and out, among dangerous water holes and mud springs. Cockatoos whistled overhead, and parrots shrieked, while every now and then they came upon a curious-looking bird, whose covering resembled hair more than feathers, as it cocked its curved bill towards them, and then hurriedly disappeared by diving in amongst the dense low growth.
“Look at that!” said Jem. “Ostrich?”
“Ostrich!” cried Don contemptuously. “Why, an ostrich is eight feet high.”
“Not when he’s young,” said Jem. “That’s a little one. Shouldn’t wonder if there’s some more.”
“You may be right, Jem, but I don’t think there are ostriches here.”
“Well, I like that,” said Jem, “when we’ve just seen one. I knew it directly. There used to be a picture of one in my old reading-book when I was at school.”
They trudged on for some distance in silence.
“What yer thinking ’bout, Mas’ Don?”
“Home,” said Don, quietly.