Little bush maiden, wondering-eyed, Playing alone in the creek-bed dry, In the small green flat on every side Walled in by the Moonbi ranges high; Tell us the tale of your lonely life, "Mid the great grey forests that know no change. "I never have left my home," she said, "I have never been over the Moonbi Range.

"Father and mother are both long dead, And I live with granny in yon wee place." "Where are your father and mother?" we said. She puzzled awhile with thoughtful face, Then a light came into the shy brown eye, And she smiled, for she thought the question strange On a thing so certain -- "When people die They go to the country over the range."

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