I was filled to my moist eyes with the almost sacred beauty of
sense and association that clad the landscape.
"Does 'unger produce 'alluciations?" said Pyecroft in a whisper. "Because
I've just seen a sacred ibis walkin' arm in arm with a British cock-
pheasant."
"What are you panickin' at?" said Hinchcliffe. "I've been seein' zebra
for the last two minutes, but I 'aven't complained."
He pointed behind us, and I beheld a superb painted zebra (Burchell's, I
think), following our track with palpitating nostrils. The car stopped,
and it fled away.
There was a little pond in front of us from which rose a dome of irregular
sticks crowned with a blunt-muzzled beast that sat upon its haunches.
"Is it catching?" said Pyecroft.
"Yes. I'm seeing beaver," I replied.
"It is here!" said Kysh, with the air and gesture of Captain Nemo, and
half turned.
"No--no--no! For 'Eaven's sake--not 'ere!" Our guest gasped like a sea-
bathed child, as four efficient hands swung him far out-board on to the
turf. The car ran back noiselessly down the slope.
"Look! Look! It's sorcery!" cried Hinchcliffe.
There was a report like a pistol shot as the beaver dived from the roof of
his lodge, but we watched our guest. He was on his knees, praying to
kangaroos. Yea, in his bowler hat he kneeled before kangaroos--gigantic,
erect, silhouetted against the light--four buck-kangaroos in the heart of
Sussex!
And we retrogressed over the velvet grass till our hind-wheels struck
well-rolled gravel, leading us to sanity, main roads, and, half an hour
later, the "Grapnel Inn" at Horsham.
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