THE SOUL WITHIN THE STONE 303 



water which sparkles with purity and has a slightly 

 saline taste. The bare roots alone suffer defilement. 



Many a tall tea-tree stands sentinel on the margin 

 of the creek, and there are groves of shm palms with 

 narrow truncated leaves — palms which creep and sprawl 

 over vegetation of independent character, and palms 

 which coquette with the sun with huge fans. Orchids 

 display sprays of yellowish-green flowers, which contri- 

 bute a decided savour to the medley of scents, and palm- 

 like Cycads meander from the low bank out into the 

 forest. 



But there is one tree which, if not superior to the rest 

 in broadness of base, height, fairness of bark, and fulness 

 of bloom, has especial endowment. It stands at the 

 spot where generation after generation of the original 

 owners of the soil has crossed the creek, wearing a waving 

 path upon which ferns ever encroach and which every 

 flood amends. In a recess in its massive roots reposes 

 "Kidj-o-bang," the restless stone — a boulder, man's- 

 head size, stained with a rim of sober brown. 



This is its accustomed seat. It roves the locality, 

 returning, swallow-like, to the close-fitting hollow of the 

 root. The embraces of the root are sometimes so strong 

 that the (dingy stone may not be moved. But the floods 

 of the wet season maintain an unceasing cataract to 

 its dislodgment, and then, according to the legends of 

 the blacks, it begins to "walk about." It may rest a 

 month just out of reach of the disturbing water among 

 the ferns. It has been known to appear mysteriously 

 on the sandy beach two hundred yards away, to which 

 spot it is said to travel by way of the grass lands, avoid- 

 ing the slur of the muddy creek. 



Whether it seeks change of scene beyond the ripple 

 of dead leaves and spoil of the flood, or whether it ven- 

 tures out on to the open beach, where the breezes from 



