CHAPTER XIII

BEN ATHOL There are stars of gold on the Wallaby Track, And silver the moonbeams glisten, The great Bush sings to us, out and back. And we lie in her arms and listen. —_W. H. Ogilvie._ A WEEK went by—a week of blinding heat, ending in a cool change, accompanied by a gale of wind that almost blew the tents and their occupants into the lagoon. Then the weather settled to glorious conditions, neither hot nor cold—long days of sunshi…