I do not know the scientific name of that wonderful Australian tree which saved my life, but believe it is well known to naturalists.

I have heard it called the "bottle tree," from the shape of the trunk.

All through that terrible night, while Yamba was far away searching for water, Bruno had never left my side, looking into my face wistfully, and occasionally licking my body sympathetically with his poor, parched tongue.

Whilst I was asleep the second time, Yamba went off with the dog in search of food, and returned with a young opossum, which was soon frizzling in an appetising way on a tripod of sticks over a blazing fire.

I was able to eat a little of the flesh, and we obtained all the water we wanted from our wonderful tree.