On one occasion, during the darkness of the night, he became extremely restless, and ran about on the bed, evidently with a view to awakening his protector, who, being a sound sleeper, was not easily disturbed. Failing to attract attention, he proceeded to run rapidly backwards and forwards over the sleeper's face, making at the same time a low spitting noise, like an angry cat. By this means he at length roused his friend, who gently pushed him away several times, speaking soothingly to him in the hope of quieting the excited little animal.
But the lizard would not be soothed. Having attracted attention, he continued his inexplicable movements with redoubled energy, until at length his master, convinced that something must be amiss, got up, struck a light, and looked round the tent, the sharp eyes of the lizard following every movement with intense interest. As nothing unusual could be seen, the gold-hunter retired once more, after pooh-poohing the lizard for his fears.
Scarcely had he dropped off to sleep, when he was again disturbed, and, losing patience at these repeated interruptions to his slumbers, he seized the lizard and threw him lightly across the tent. In this involuntary flight the little creature unfortunately struck the tent-pole with considerable force, and half of his tail was broken off—a matter of no very great importance to a lizard, perhaps, but still a discouraging reward for a well-meant warning. Notwithstanding this the little reptile returned to the bed, keeping close to his master, but he continued to be very restless and excited for the remainder of the night.
When day dawned, preparations were begun for the day's march. The tents were struck and the bedding was rolled up, ready to be placed on the rough digger's cart. Then the mystery was explained. In the twigs and ferns thrown underneath the scanty bedding, to keep it from the bare ground, a huge tiger snake with several young ones was discovered. This snake is of a deadly description and is much feared by the colonists. Like all snakes, it gives forth a strong odor, which, no doubt, made the lizard aware of his enemy's presence, unless, perhaps, he saw it creep under the curtain of the tent. Of course, the snakes were killed at once.
After this our little friend with half a tail became a greater favorite than ever, because we recognized that he was protector as well as friend.
TOBY THE WISE
By General Rush C. Hawkins
The chief subject of this truthful history is a jet-black, middle-aged bird, commonly known in England as a rook, but nevertheless a notable specimen of the crow family.
In his babyhood he was, in the language of the ancient chroniclers, grievously hurt and wounded full sore, and particularly so in the left wing. He was so badly disabled that he had to forego the pleasure of flying through the air, and was obliged to content himself as best he could with trudging about on the rough surface of mother earth.
In his sad plight, with the maimed wing dragging painfully along, he chanced to pass the window of a library belonging to and occupied by a charming old English gentleman, a perfect example of the old school, learned, benevolent, and very fond of animals and feathered pets. No one can tell what chance it was that brought the unhappy and wounded young rook to the window of this good man. But possibly it was a real inspiration on the part of the young bird. Toby was wet, weary, wounded and hungry, and as he looked in upon the cheerful wood fire and the kindly face of the master of the house, his longing expression was met by a raising of the window and an invitation to walk in to a breakfast of corn and meal that had been hastily prepared for him. He gazed and thought, and thought and gazed, upon the joys within and still he doubted; but, finally, appetite and curiosity got the better of his discretion, and, as he walked cautiously in, the window was closed behind him. So the wounded bird entered upon a new life.