“I am now about to put before you an important proposal,” said Bill.  “Here you are, a young intelligent feller, goin’ about seein’ the world by yourself.  Here is Sam an’ me, two as fine fellers as ever walked, goin’ about the world with a Puddin’.  My proposal to you is—­Join us, and become a member of the Noble Society of Puddin’-Owners.  The duties of the Society,” went on Bill, “are light.  The members are required to wander along the roads, indulgin’ in conversation, song and story, eatin’ at regular intervals at the Puddin’.  And now, what’s your answer?”

“My answer,” said Bunyip Bluegum, “is, Done with you.”  And, shaking hands warmly all round, they loudly sang.

The puddin’-owners’ Anthem.

“The solemn word is plighted,
  The solemn tale is told,
We swear to stand united,
  Three puddin’-owners bold.

“Hurrah for puddin’-owning,
  Hurrah for Friendship’s hand,
The puddin’-thieves are groaning
  To see our noble band.

“When we with rage assemble,
  Let puddin’-snatchers groan;
Let puddin’-burglars tremble,
  They’ll ne’er our puddin’ own.

“Hurrah, we’ll stick together,
  And always bear in mind
To eat our puddin’ gallantly,
  Whenever we’re inclined.

“Having given three rousing cheers, they shook hands once more and turned in for the night.  After such a busy day, walking, talking, fighting, singing, and eating puddin’, they were all asleep in a pig’s whisper.

SECOND SLICE

The Society of Puddin’-Owners were up bright and early next morning, and had the billy on and tea made before six o’clock, which is the best part of the day, because the world has just had his face washed, and the air smells like Pears’ soap.

“Aha,” said Bill Barnacle, cutting up slices of the Puddin’, “this is what I call grand.  Here we are, after a splendid night’s sleep on dry leaves, havin’ a smokin’ hot slice of steak-and-kidney for breakfast round the camp fire.  What could be more delightful?”

“What indeed?” said Bunyip Bluegum, sipping his tea.

“Why, as I always say,” said Bill, “if there’s one thing more entrancin’ than sittin’ round a camp fire in the evenin’ it’s sittin’ round a camp fire in the mornin’.  No beds and blankets and breakfast tables for Bill Barnacle.  For as I says in my `Breakfast Ballad’—­

“If there’s anythin’ better than lyin’ on leaves,
  It’s risin’ from leaves at dawnin’,
If there’s anythin’ better than sleepin’ at eve,
  It’s wakin’ up in the mawnin’.

“If there’s anythin’ better than camp firelight,
  It’s bright sunshine on wakin’. 
If there’s anythin’ better than puddin’ at night,
  It’s puddin’ when day is breakin’.

“If there’s anythin’ better than singin’ away
  While the stars are gaily shinin’,
Why, it’s singin’ a song at dawn of day,
  On puddin’ for breakfast dinin’.”