82 TROPIC DAYS 



clean but for a carpet of ferns, and its branches free 

 from the embraces of orchids, save that which bear^ 

 the ghostly white flowers which set off its own of bold 

 red. But as it passed its maturity' shrubs and saplings 

 began to encroach, until it was the centre of a circus 

 of upstart vegetation, though still stretching big, 

 knotty limbs over the slim youths of yesterday. 

 Anterior to this era a neglected fire had scorched a 

 portion of its trunk. Decay set in. A huge cavity 

 gradually appeared, betokening vital injuries. The 

 soft though tough wood does not patiently endure 

 the annihilating fret of time. Far up in a recess of 

 this cavity a toy boomerang was found, placed there 

 by some provident but forgetful piccaninny. At the 

 date of the discovery of the missile the age of the resi- 

 dent blacks had passed away; but still the tree stood, 

 stout of limb, while the encompassing saplings shot 

 up until sim-seeking shoots caressed the branches and 

 famiHarlsed with the blooms, as if taking credit for 

 the seasonal gaiety of the patriarch. 



In the prime of life the wood of the bin-gum is of 

 pale straw colour with a faint pinkish tinge, and tough 

 though light. Sapless age makes it tindery, and the 

 decaying fibre descends in dust — glissades of dust 

 which form moraines within the hollow of the base. 

 Then the end is not far off. 



The old tree might have been credited with pre- 

 monition of its fate. However fanciful to ascribe to 

 it power of utterance, some phenomena, perhaps as- 

 sociated with the dusty flux draining its vitals, gave 

 it distinct voice. On silent da^'s it was often heard — 

 a whispering, whimpering sing-song, pitifully weak 

 for so great a tree, but not without appeal. Did it 

 not suggest the sanctuary of some wood-nymph chant- 

 ing never so faint a death psalm — a monotone which 

 the idlest zeph}^' might stilW 



