It may be mere fancy, but to me the aborigines seemed to harmonise admirably with their surroundings. They were fitted to their country like the kangaroo and the emu, the platypus and the barramunda. Man generally seems to stand outside and above Nature, but they were decidedly a part of it. To see a large squad of them on the march in single file, or bounding along the hillside and shouting in the excitement of the kangaroo hunt, was quite a treat.

When shifting from one camping-ground to another, they usually moved slowly through the bush, the families separating and gathering their food on the way—opossums, bandicoots, honey, grubs, birds, and so forth. At other times they marched along singly, the lords of creation stepping out with elastic tread and graceful bearing, carrying their light weapons with perhaps some game, the weaker vessel loaded with the chattels and possibly a baby on the back in a loop of a rug or sitting stride-leg on a shoulder. Some would carry live fire sticks to save the trouble of producing fire by friction. Arrived at the familiar, well-chosen rendezvous, it was the duty of the women to cut the bark for the humpies (dwellings) and prepare the fires.