“You feel here,” cried his cousin.
“Well,” said Norman, running his hand along the belt, “what of it?”
“Full, isn’t it?” said Tim.
“Yes. Quite full.”
“You’re sure it’s quite full?”
“Oh yes.”
“Then I didn’t put any shot in my gun, that’s all. I loaded after I came out this morning.”
“Well, you are a pretty fellow,” cried Rifle. “I shouldn’t like to have to depend on you if we were attacked by black fellows.”
“Black fellow,” cried Shanter, sharply. “Baal black fellow. Plenty wallaby. Come along.”
That day, though, they did not encounter any of that small animal of the kangaroo family, which were plentiful about the hills at home, but went journeying on along through the bush, with the grass-trees rising here and there with their mop-like heads and blossom-like spike. Even birds were scarce, and toward evening, as they were growing hungry and tired, and were seeking a satisfactory spot for camping, Tim let fall a remark which cast a damper on the whole party.