“Supplies wouldn’t hold out,” said Robin, practically.
They lay on the soft grass just above the water’s edge and nibbled their sandwiches economically, to make them last longer. Below them a great veil of maidenhair fern trailed downward to the stream that washed its fronds: above towered the tall brown shafts of tree-ferns, their spreading crests mingling with sarsaparilla and clematis. Just across the stream stood a clump of Christmas-bush, already a starry mass of white. There were birds everywhere among the bushes, happy and unafraid; bell-birds chimed ceaselessly in the tree-tops far above them. Once, a wallaby hopped upon an open space on the farther bank, looked at them serenely for a moment, and then hopped back into cover.
“You were right, Robin,” Dr. Lane said. “We have not seen any bush like this—nothing so quiet and utterly undisturbed. It makes one feel oneself an intruder.”
“We’d see lyre-birds if we could stay here long enough without moving,” Robin said. “Look—there’s a platypus!” She pointed to a tiny promontory across the creek, where a queer flat creature, furry and with a bill like a duck’s, paused for a moment before sliding head-first into the water.
“First I’ve ever seen,” commented Barry. “My word this is a jolly place! I wish we could have a camp here.”
“We’ll think about it next year, when we come back,” said the doctor. “Meanwhile, I’m afraid we had better move: we don’t know how rough the going will be after this.”
They were soon after to prove the melancholy truth of the foreboding contained in this remark. There was no track at all to be found near the creek, and the banks were so overgrown that each yard of progress had to be fought. So they took to the water, a slow process, since it was necessary to follow the creek through all its windings: a laborious one, because most of the way was over smooth and slippery stones, where each foothold had to be tested. All were wearing rough spiked boots, which gave them more security in treading; but they also made walking tiring, when heavy with water. The creek rarely rose above Barry’s knees: but it was swift, the power of the current increasing as they mounted higher and higher into the hills; and it was hard to gauge the depth of the pools. There was more than one moment when Dr. Lane asked himself doubtfully if they should give up the attempt to reach the Falls.
The children, however, scouted the suggestion indignantly. To have come so far, and then to turn back, seemed to them an unthinkable idea.
“I had to do it once, and I’ve been sorry ever since,” Robin declared. “And I wasn’t fourteen then. We can’t be so very far from the Falls now.” She peered ahead into the dim tunnel of greenery—it was long since they had seen the sun, shut in by the trees as they were. “Look—I believe it is a little clearer ahead. We might have another try at walking on the bank.”
“Let’s see,” said Barry, eagerly. “Gee, but my feet are sore from these old stones!”