CHAPTER X.
The next morning they were astir before that very punctual and amusing bird, the Laughing Jackass,[1] had proclaimed to the sluggards of the bush, by its discordant hootings, that the sun was again risen upon the land. The note of the Morepork,[2] not unlike that of a cuckoo with a cold, the purring cry of the flying squirrel, and the squall of the several kinds of opossums, rang in the ears of the little party as they were making final arrangements for their departure. It was at this juncture that the lost dog returned, but in a pitiable plight; she could scarcely crawl, and her breathing was nearly stopped from the strangling effects of a strip of linen which tightly encircled her throat. Her mouth was covered with foam, and it appeared as if the poor creature had returned to her master only to die. Dodge was almost beside himself; and after separating the ligature, and wiping the foam from her mouth, he fetched some water of which she eagerly partook. Then he addressed her in encouraging accents, interspersed with an occasional malediction upon the heads as well as other portions of the bodies of her late persecutors. "Poor old girl, keep up your pluck:" (then some very strong expressions alluding to eyes and limbs:) "never say 'die.' Haven't we stood by each other for years? and when the Gorger left me, didn't you stick to me? to be sure you did. Then cock your tail up—(The ruffians!—the hang-dog villains!)—Hurra! now you are better—bravo!"
Whether there was something exhilarating in the earnest manner of Dodge, or that the dog was a proficient in the Eng-
