THE SOUL WITHIN THE STONE 307 



sparkled over the big root, while high among the blos- 

 soms birds clambered incessantly for nectar. 



The primitive pair were at home, but not at ease, in 

 this Garden of Eden. They spoke in mumbhng tones, of 

 which I could catch but stray phrases, though I listened 

 eagerly. Presently the girl took up two dry sticks, and, 

 using one as a drill between the palms of her hands, 

 essayed to make a fire. 



The boy imperatively intervened. "Poo-nee imba !" 

 (No fire). 



The girl started up, and instantly both slid into the 

 jungle as silently and as tracklessly as snakes. 



The dead kangaroo, the expectant phantom (gifted for 

 the time being with a faculty more subtle than any 

 moral sense), remained alone among the birds and the 

 orchids, while shy pencil-tailed water-rats began to 

 sniff and peer among the sedges. So enthralling was 

 the scene that time passed insensibly. The sun was 

 overhead when the pair reappeared noiselessly. Smears 

 of shell and grit betrayed an intervening meal of oysters. 

 Swarms of green ants, in a scramble for food, almost 

 obscured the blood-stains on the fur of the kangaroo, and, 

 brushing them away, the boy made and enlarged with 

 his fingers an opening in the body, and having torn out 

 the heart, liver, and kidneys, made a fire, scarce a hand's- 

 breadth wide and smokeless, on which the meat was 

 singed prior to being munched with grim deliberation. 

 They ate largely, some of the flesh from the hind quarters 

 being also eaten, scrap by scrap. 



Were they fugitives ? Tall and strong, the boy was 

 as alert and suspicious as a dingo. Every sense was 

 strained. He seemed intent upon subduing the very 

 noises in his head as he slowly crushed his food and 

 gulped. 



A forlorn cry, half appeal, half gurgle, filtered through 



