They come back with the news that they have seen waratahs growing. That is exciting enough to take attention away even from the oysters, for the waratah, the handsomest wildflower of the world, is becoming rare around the cities. All the party follow the girl guides over a slope into another gully. There has been a bush-fire in this gully. All the undergrowth has been burned away, and the trunks of the trees badly charred, but the trees have not been killed. The gum has a very thick bark, purposely made to resist fire. This bark gets scorched in a bush-fire, but unless the fire is a very fierce one indeed, the tree is not vitally hurt. Around the blackened tree-trunks tongues of fire seem to be still licking. At a height of about six feet from the ground, those scarlet heart-shapes are surely flames? No, they are the waratahs, which love to grow where there have been bush-fires. The waratah is of a brilliant red colour, growing single and stately on a high stalk. Its shape is of a heart; its size about that of a pear. The waratah is not at all a dainty, fragile flower, but a solid mass of bloom like the vegetable cauliflower; indeed, if you imagine a cauliflower of a vivid red colour, about the size of a pear and the shape of a heart, growing on a stalk six feet high, you will have some idea of the waratah. Two of the flowers are picked--Tim's father will not allow more--and they are brought to help the decoration of the picnic meal. Carried thus over the shoulder of an eager, flushed child, the waratah suggests another idea: it represents exactly the thyrsus of the Bacchanals of ancient legends. The picnickers find that their appetites have gained zest from the sweet salty oysters. They are ready for lunch. A fire is started, with great precaution that it does not spread; meat is roasted on spits (perhaps, too, some fish got from the sea near by); and a hearty, jolly meal is eaten. Perhaps it would be better to say devoured, for at a picnic there is no nice etiquette of eating, and you may use your fingers quite without shame as long as you are not "disgusting." The nearest sister to Jim will tell him promptly if he became "disgusting," but I can't tell you all the rules. It isn't "disgusting" to hold a chop in your fingers as you eat it, or to stir your tea with a nice clean stick from a gum tree. But it is "disgusting" to put your fingers on what anyone else will have to eat, or to cut at the loaf of bread with a soiled knife. I hope that you will get from this some idea of Australian picnic etiquette. But you really cannot get any real idea of picnic fun until you have taken your picnic meal out in the Australian Bush; no description can do justice to that fun. The picnic habit is not one for children only. The Jim whom we have followed will be still eager for a picnic when he is the father of a big Jim of his own; that is, if he is the right kind of a human being and keeps the Australian spirit.