A BUSH BREAKFAST 45 



The big ants that come hurrying over the carpet also think 

 ours is a most desirable breakfast, and are so impatient for their 

 turn that one or two even venture on to the white table-cloth. 

 But their gleaming heart-shaped bodies look much prettier 

 on the green carpet or the grey floor, so we gently drive them 

 back with a twig to wait in patience. They are not the spite- 

 ful, ill-natured ants that love to bite mortals, but they just run 

 about busily, waiting until we have finished, and do not worry 

 too persistently. 



Indeed, it is not a morning on which any living thing would 

 be ill-natured. The breath of the opening flowers on every 

 hand fills the air with peace, and the dancing sunbeams fill the 

 heart with joy. The magic song of the spring has begun again, 

 and everyone that hears it must come under its spell. 



As we are shaking out the crumbs for the ants' breakfast, 

 we hear a footstep on the rocks above, and see a youth walking 

 towards us. His clothes are old and not too clean ; his hard, 

 black hat is battered; his neck is guiltless of a collar; if you 

 saw him walking slowly past your house you would perhaps 

 shut your gate more firmly ; but here in the bush no such 

 suspicious thoughts come to you. 



Nor is there any need. The little bulky packet beneath his 

 arm tells of a meal to be eaten under the trees ; the tiny sprig 

 of boronia in the old hat tells of a love of beauty hidden 

 beneath the ragged coat. He walks along with his eyes on 

 the ground, apparently seeing nothing, but the influence of 



