"It's them--I mean those are they!" shouted the Little Red House happily. "Sym and Emily Ann! And here comes our little dog."

"Well, you certainly have sharp eyes," replied the Blue-gum. "But I suppose I'm getting old--over a hundred years, you know."

The two figures were through the white gate now, and had crossed the red road out on to the stony flat--getting bigger and bigger as they came; and the smile on the Little Red House seemed to grow broader and broader. On they came, under the tree-ferns, up by the big rocks, past the sign-post. And now the Little Red House could hear Sym singing his Tinker's song.

But it was not quite the same song this time:

"Kettles and pans! Ho, kettles and pans!

Where's there a home like the tinkering man's?

Weary of wandering, home is the place-- The Little Red House with the smile on his face-- Weary and hungry, my Emily Ann.

Then put on the kettle! Ho, put on the pan!"

"Now THAT is the sort of song I DO like," said the Little Red House, as he watched them coming up the mountain.

On they came, growing bigger and bigger--through the sliprails, across the potato paddock, over the bridge, round by the bracken-patch, past the black stump, through the gate, and here they were, right at the front door.

"Oh, I AM glad to be home again," cried Emily Ann. "And do look at the Little House. He seems to be smiling."

"Of course he is smiling," answered Sym; "but he has a very dirty face."

"The storm did that," said Emily Ann. "Now hurry and get the fire alight, and I'll put the kettle on." And they went inside laughing and singing, while the little dog flew round the house, barking for dear life, and pretending he was very busy seeing everything was in order.

"Now I suppose you're happy," said the big Blue-gum to the Little Red House.

"Happy?" cried the Little House. "Of course I am. Why, I'm a home again!" But suddenly he remembered that his own happiness had made him forget all about his old friend's troubles; and he tried his best to look serious, as he said: "But what about YOU? Are the white-ants still troubling you?"

"Ah!" replied the Blue-gum. "Don't let that worry you. Yesterday I had a talk with the doctor--Doctor Tree-creeper, you know--a very clever little bird he is, and he knows all about white-ants. He examined me thoroughly all over. He says that they have hardly got under my skin yet, and he will have them all out in a couple of days.

So THAT'S all right."

"Well, I am glad," shouted the Little Red House. "Now we are ALL happy!"

Then Sym got the fire started, and the smoke curled up, and the Little House had his gay blue feather once again. Sym began to sing his Tinker's Song louder than ever, and Emily Ann, who was getting the meal ready, joined in and sang too. Very soon the kettle also began to sing, and, when the pan heard that HE began to sing. Then Doctor Tree-creeper arrived to attend to the white-ants, and, as he walked round the trunk of the big Blue-gum, tapping it just like a doctor, HE began to sing. And two Kookaburras, who were sitting on the fence, were so tickled with it all, that they laughed and laughed till they made everyone else laugh with them.

"This is quite like old times," laughed the big Blue-gum. "Are you contented now?"

"Am I contented?" cried the Little Red House. "Am I contented? Well, what would you think?"

And then--well, most ordinary grown-up folk would tell you that just then Emily Ann drew down one of the front blinds. But all the big Blue-gum knew, and all you and I know, is that the Little Red House winked.

And when I saw him last, his smile was as broad as ever, and he was still winking.

THE PIEMAN

I'd like to be a pieman, and ring a little bell, Calling out, "Hot pies! Hot pies to sell!"

Apple-pies and Meat-pies, Cherry-pies as well, Lots and lots and lots of pies--more than you can tell.

Big, rich Pork-pies! Oh, the lovely smell!

But I wouldn't be a pieman if . . .

I wasn't very well.

Would you?

THE TRIANTIWONTIGONGOLOPE

There's a very funny insect that you do not often spy, And it isn't quite a spider, and it isn't quite a fly; It is something like a beetle, and a little like a bee, But nothing like a wooly grub that climbs upon a tree.

Its name is quite a hard one, but you'll learn it soon, I hope.

So try: Tri- Tri-anti-wonti- Triantiwontigongolope.

It lives on weeds and wattle-gum, and has a funny face; Its appet.i.te is hearty, and its manners a disgrace.

When first you come upon it, it will give you quite a scare, But when you look for it again, you find it isn't there.

And unless you call it softly it will stay away and mope.

So try: Tri- Tri-anti-wonti- Triantiwontigongolope.

It trembles if you tickle it or tread upon its toes; It is not an early riser, but it has a snubbish nose.

If you snear at it, or scold it, it will scuttle off in shame, But it purrs and purrs quite proudly if you call it by its name, And offer it some sandwiches of sealing-wax and soap.

So try: Tri- Tri-anti-wonti- Triantiwontigongolope .

But of course you haven't seen it; and I truthfully confess That I haven't seen it either, and I don't know its address.

For there isn't such an insect, though there really might have been If the trees and gra.s.s were purple, and the sky was bottle green.

It's just a little joke of mine, which you'll forgive, I hope.

Oh, try!

Tri- Tri-anti-wonti- Triantiwontigongolope.

THE CIRCUS

Hey, there! Hoop-la! the circus is in town!

Have you seen the elephant? Have you seen the clown?

Have you seen the dappled horse gallop round the ring?

Have you seen the acrobats on the dizzy swing?

Have you seen the tumbling men tumble up and down?

Hoop-la! Hoop-la! the circus is in town!

Hey, there! Hoop-la! Here's the circus troupe!

Here's the educated dog, jumping through the hoop.

See the lady Blondin with the parasol and fan, The lad upon the ladder and the india-rubber man.

See the joyful juggler and the boy who loops the loop.

Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey! Here's the circus troupe!

YOU AND I

They say the eagle is a bird That sees some splendid sights When he soars high into the sky Upon his dizzy flights: He sees the ground for miles around Our house, and Billy Johnson's; But we cannot be eagles, for That would, of course, be nonsense.