She got up as she spoke and went off towards a particularly gaunt-looking tree. Its trunk had split open, showing a hollow large enough to hold several people; for some distance around its roots protruded through the ground like old bones. Grizzel disappeared into the hollow trunk, whence she presently emerged with an air of triumph. "I've got it safe and sound. Now I'm going to get an orange." Jerry eyed the orange-grove lovingly. Digging is thirsty work. "Let's all go," said Hugh. "Orange juice is one of the most restorative things in the world; if we eat enough we will be ready to make a fresh start in half an hour or so. Very likely we shall have better luck next time." It was hot, and the change from the glaring sunshine into the cool dampness of the orange-grove was very pleasant. The beautiful fruit hung invitingly from the branches with a colour and fragrance unknown to London shops. There were many varieties, and the Australian children wandered critically from tree to tree. "I'm not sure whether I like navels or bloods best," Hugh remarked, "but perhaps on the whole, for pure refreshment, navels." He stopped, as he spoke, before a tree on which grew oranges larger than the London children had ever seen in their lives--immense, smooth, opulent-looking globes of rich golden yellow. For a time silence reigned, while six people covered themselves with juice, "Like the ointment that ran down Aaron's beard," Grizzel said, and the ground in the neighbourhood assumed an auriferous hue that made the inventor sigh. "I wish we could find a place where nuggets lay about like that," he said rather pensively; "it would be awfully jolly." "It would be," agreed the others, "most awfully jolly." "I think I'd as soon have oranges as gold," Grizzel said reflectively, looking down at the peel-strewn earth. "Think how nice it would be if you were in the very middle of a scorching desert, and dying of thirst like the men in _Five Weeks in a Balloon_, to find a lovely orange tree covered with juicy oranges. It would be nicer than finding gold." "You do talk silly slithers," Hugh said derisively. "Who ever found a beautiful orange tree in the middle of a desert? You _might_ find gold and bribe an Arab to give you water." "You _might_ find an orange tree in an oasis," Grizzel said huffily. "I am going to bathe my feet in the creek. Go and look for your old gold. You won't find it." "All right, Carroty-cross-patch. You won't get any if we do," Hugh replied politely. "Don't want it, Goggle-eyed-guinea-pig." Grizzel got up and walked off, her sun-bonnet dangling down her back and her red curls waving over her head. No one took any notice of these little amenities. No one remembered that the ointment which ran down Aaron's beard was like brethren dwelling together in unity--a good and pleasant thing. They were all brothers or sisters and accustomed to such mellifluous modes of address.