“Now,” said Weetah patiently, “come back here. No, right back, well back from where you saw the last track. Now, look carefully ahead of you. Then tell me what you see.”

Carefully Tuki gazed, peering this way and that. But no matter how hard he tried all he could see was a brown snake slithering over a fallen kurrajong-tree, and the short, thick, green grass.

“I see grass,” he said at last.

“Right. Now stand a little this way—bend a little—so that the sun shines upon the grass ahead. Keep bending a little—sweep your eyes slowly along a little ahead of you—keep bending your head a little—this way and that—up and down—make the sun shine just where you want it to!”

For a long time Tuki tried, a growing disappointment on his face.

“Never mind, you’ll soon learn.” Weetah smiled. “This is a really difficult track to follow, only a grown-up man hunter, as you will be some day, could do it. But stand peering, just as you are now.” And she walked a few yards ahead then bent down. “Now,” she said, “what do you see—right under my finger?”

For quite a time Tuki peered, this way and that, but all he could see was soft green grass. Then slowly the glum disappointment lifted from his face, his big eyes shone.

“The grass has been pressed down,” he said uncertainly. “He has crawled over the grass there.”

“Now you have it!” Weetah laughed. “He has no bare ground to walk upon, so now he makes his way over the soft, dewy grass. It bends under him, and only slowly rises up after he has passed by. It has not quite risen right up. That tender grass under these shady trees will not rise quite level with its neighbour grass until the sun warms it and drinks up all its dew. So when you use your eyes the right way you can still faintly see the impression of our possum’s ambling body on the grass. Now carry on.”

Tuki did so, as intently almost as if his life depended upon it, which in a way it did. For he must learn to do a hunter’s work for the tribe, must grow up to be a warrior also. Seriously indeed do the wild aboriginal children absorb their daily lessons from their Book of Life.

Tuki tracked the possum across the grass until all trace of track ended at a tree butt. He gazed closely at the bark, but it showed no tell-tale scratches, no sign of sharp little claws. So the possum had not climbed up there!

Tuki started to puzzle out which way the tracks could have gone, until Weetah laughed.

“Come round the tree and look, silly. If you do not see a bandicoot down one end of a log, you go round and try to look down the other end, don’t you? See, there are his claw marks where he has climbed up to his home. See, from this side the tree leans a little way towards where you were looking. And, as this side is the easiest way to climb, the possum has used his eyes and his head—not like a little hunter called Tuki, who would even seek to climb a tree the hard way. You watch me climb this tree. And then we’ll have possum for dinner.”