SATELLITES AND NEIGHBOURS 39 



ready when wanted by the chicks. Nor have I ever seen 

 an instance of this alleged exhibition of self-sacrifice on the 

 part of the white ant. Another boy had eaten his very 

 substantial lunch, but the eggs were tempting and he baked 

 two. One, and that new-laid, is ample for an ordinary 

 mortal. The condition of the first resembled that which 

 the embarrassed curate described as " good in parts " ; but 

 " Mickie " was not nice over a half-hatched egg. Indeed, 

 was it not rather more piquant than othenvise ? The second 

 proved to contain a fully developed chicken. Now the 

 chick emerges from the shell feathered, and this, but for 

 the unfortunate accident of discovery, would have begun to 

 scratch for its living in a day or so. Mickie flicked away 

 the fragments of shell from the steaming dainty and laid it 

 snugly on a leaf. "That's for Paddy" an Irish terrier, 

 always of the party. It was an affecting act of renuncia- 

 tion. Presently " Paddy " came along ; but " Paddy," who, 

 too, had lunched, bestowed merely a sniff and a " No, thank 

 you" wag of the tail. " What, you no want 'em ? All right." 

 No second offer was risked, and in a moment, in one mouth- 

 ful, the chick was being crunched by Mickie, feathers and 

 all. The menu of the Chinese with its ducks' eggs salted, 

 sharks' fins and tails, stewed pups, fowls' and ducks' tongues, 

 fricasseed cat, rat soup, silkworm grubs, and odds and ends 

 generally despised and rejected is pitifully unromantic when 

 set against the generous omnivority of Australian blacks. 



A mile beyond Timana is Bedarra, with its lovely little 

 bays and coves and fantastically weathered rocks, its forest 

 and jungle and scrub, and its rocky satellite Pee-rahm-ah. 



Several of the most conspicuous landmarks are 

 associated in the minds of blacks with legends, generally of 

 the simplest and most prosaic nature. About this rough 

 rock Pee-rahm-ah is a story which in the minds of the 

 natives satisfactorily accounts for its presence. 



In the far-away past two nice young gins, they say, 

 were left by themselves on Dunk Island, while the others 

 of the tribe went away in canoes to Hinchinbrook. Tiring 

 of their lonesomeness, they made up their minds to regain 



