Gleeson was the kindest man in the world; all he wanted was a little patience.

The kangaroo gave better sport than either the fish or the pig, and Philip enjoyed it.  His mare proved swift, but sometimes shied at the start, when the kangaroos were in full view.  She seemed to think that there was a kangaroo behind every tree, so she jumped aside from the trunks.  That was to kill Philip at last, but he had not the least idea what was to happen, and was as happy as hermits usually are, and they have their troubles and accidents just like other people.

The kangaroos when disturbed made for the thick timber, and the half-grown ones, called “Flying Joeys,” always escaped; they were so swift, and they could jump to such a distance that I won’t mention it, as some ignorant people might call me a liar.  Those killed were mostly does with young, or old men.  Any horse of good speed could round up a heavy old man, and then he made for the nearest gum tree, and stood at bay with his back to it.  It was dangerous for man or dog to attack him in front, for with his long hind claws he could cut like a knife.

Philip’s family began to desert him.  Bruin, as already stated, sneaked away and was killed by Hugh Boyle.  Joey opened his cage-door, and flew up a gum tree.  When Philip came home from the school, and saw the empty cage, he called aloud, “Joey, Joey, sweet pretty Joey,” and whistled.  The bird descended as far as the lightwood, but would not be coaxed to come any nearer.  He actually mocked his master, and said, “Ha, ha, ha! who are you?  Who are you?  There is na luck aboot the hoose,” which soon proved true, for the next bird Pussy brought into the house was Joey himself.

Pup led a miserable life, and died early.  The coroner suspected that he had been murdered by Maggie, but there was no absolute proof.

Maggie had really no conscience.  She began to gad about the bush.  In her girlish days she wore short frocks, as it were, having had her wings clipped, but the next spring she went into society, was a debutante, wore a dress of black and white satin which shone in the sun, and she grew so vain and flighty, and strutted about so, that it was really ridiculous to watch her.  She began also to stay out late in the evening, which was very improper, and before going to bed Philip would go under the lightwood with a lighted candle, and look for her amongst the leaves, saying, “Maggie, are you there?” She was generally fast asleep, and all she could do was to blink her eyes, and say, “Peet, peet,” and fall asleep again.  But one night she never answered at all.  She was absent all next day, and many a day after that.  October came, when all the scrub, the lightwood, and wattle were in full bloom, and the air everywhere was full of sweetness.  Philip was digging his first boiling of new potatoes, when all at once Maggie swooped down into the garden, and began strutting about, and picking up the worms and grubs from the soil newly turned up.