Dot and the Kangaroo Part 9

Leave care to a toad, and live _a la mode_!

Click-i-ti, click-i-ti-clack!"

They had no difficulty in following the Wagtail's directions. They soon struck a creek they had been told to pursue to its end, and about noon they found themselves in very pretty country. It reminded Dot of the journey they had made to find the Platypus, for there were the same beautiful growths of fern and shrubs. There were also great trailing creepers which hung down like ropes from the tops of the tall trees they had climbed. These rope-like coils of the creepers made capital swings, and often Dot clambered into one of the big loops and sat swinging herself to and fro, laughing and singing, much to the delight and amus.e.m.e.nt of the Kangaroo.

"Swing! swing! a bird on the wing Is not more happy than I!

Stooping to earth, and seeking the sky.

Swing! swing! swing!

See how high upward I fly!

Here, midst the leaves I swing; Then, as fast to my swing I cling, Down I come from the sky!

Swing! swing! a bird on the wing Is not more happy than I!"

Thus sang little Dot, tossing herself backwards and forwards, and the Kangaroo came to the conclusion that there was something very sweet about little Humans, and that Dot was certainly quite as nice as a Joey Kangaroo.

In the middle of one of these little swinging diversions, a bird about the size of a pigeon, with the most wonderfully shiny plumage, flew to the tree on which Dot was swinging. Dot was so struck by the bird's beautiful blue-black glossy appearance, and its brightly contrasting yellow beak and legs, that she stopped swinging at once. "You _are_ a pretty bird!" she said.

"I am a Satin Bower Bird," it said. "We heard you singing, and we thought, therefore, that you probably enjoy parties, so I have come to invite you to one of our a.s.semblies which will take place shortly.

Friend Kangaroo, we know, is of a somewhat serious nature, but probably she will do us the pleasure of accompanying you to our little entertainment."

"I shall have great pleasure in doing so," said the Kangaroo; "I have not been at any of your parties for a long time. You know, I suppose, that I lost my little Joey very sadly."

"We heard all about it," replied the Bower Bird in a tone of exaggerated, almost ridiculous sadness, for it was so anxious that the Kangaroo should think that it felt very deeply for her loss. "We were in the middle of a meeting at the time the Wallaby brought the news, and we were so sad that we nearly broke up our a.s.sembly. But it would have been a pity to do so, really, as the young birds enjoy themselves so much at the 'Bower of Pleasure.' But," said the Satin Bird, with a sudden change of tone from extreme sorrow to one of vivacious interest, "I must show you the way to the bower, or you would never find it."

Dot jumped down from the swing, and she and the Kangaroo, guided by the Satin Bird, made their way through some very thickly-grown bush. The bird was certainly right in saying that they would never have found the Bower of Pleasure without a guide. It was carefully concealed in the most densely-grown scrub. As they were pushing their way through a thicket of shrubs, before reaching the open s.p.a.ce where the Satin Birds'

bower was built, they heard an increasing noise of birds all talking to one another. The din of this chattering was enhanced considerably by the shrill sounds of tree-frogs and crickets, and the hubbub made Dot feel like the little Native Bear--as if her "head was empty."

"This will be a very pleasant party," said the Satin Bird, "there is plenty of conversation, so everyone's in a good humour."

"Do you think anyone is listening, or are they all talking?" enquired the Kangaroo timidly.

"n.o.body would attempt to listen," answered the Satin Bird, "it would be impossible against the music of the tree frogs and crickets, so everyone talks."

"I should tell the tree-frogs and crickets to be quiet," said Dot, "no one seems to care for their music."

"Oh, without music it would be very dull," explained the Satin Bird, "no one would care to talk. You understand, it would be awkward, someone might overhear what was said."

As the bird spoke the trio reached the place where the bower was situated.

Dot thought it a most curious sight. In the middle of an open s.p.a.ce the birds had built a flooring of twigs, and upon that they had erected a bower about three feet high, also constructed of twigs interwoven with gra.s.s, and arranged so as nearly to meet at the top in an arched form.

"It's a new bower, and more commodious than our last," said the Satin Bird with an air of satisfaction. "What do you think of the decorations?"

In a temporary lull of the frog and cricket band and the conversation, Dot and the Kangaroo praised the bower and its decorations, and enquired politely how the birds had managed to procure such a collection of ornaments for their pleasure hall. Several young bower birds came and joined in the chat, and Dot was surprised to see how different their plumage was from the satin blue-black of the old birds. These younger members of the community were of a greenish yellow colour, with dark pencillings on their feathers, and had no glossy sheen like their elders.

Each of them pointed out some ornament that it had brought with which to deck the bower. One had brought the pink feathers of a Galah, which had been stuck here and there amongst the twigs. Others had collected the delicate sh.e.l.ls of land snails, and put them round about the entrance.

But the birds that were proudest of their contributions were those who had picked up odds and ends at the camps of bushmen.

"That beautiful bright thing I brought from a camp a mile away," said a bird, indicating a tag from a cake of tobacco.

"But it isn't so pretty as mine," said another, pointing to the gla.s.s stopper of a sauce bottle.

"Or mine," chimed in another bird, as it claimed a bright piece of tin from a milk-can that was inserted in the twigs just above the entrance of the bower.

"Nonsense, children!" said a grave old Satin Bird, "your trifles are not to be compared with that beautiful object I found to-day and arranged along the top of the bower. The effect is splendid!"

As he spoke, Dot observed that, twined amidst the topmost twigs of the construction was a strip of red flannel from an old shirt, a bedraggled red rag that must have been found in an extinct camp fire, judging by its singed edges.

The day Dot had lost her way she had been threading beads, and she still had upon her finger a ring of the pretty coloured pieces of gla.s.s. She saw the old Satin Bird look at this ring longingly, so she pulled it off, and begged that it might be added to the other decorations. It was instantly given the place of honour--over the entrance and above the piece of milk tin.

This gift from Dot caused an immediate flow of conversation, because every bird was pleased to have something to talk about. They all began to say how beautiful the beads were. "Quite too lovely!" said one. "What a charming little Human!" exclaimed another. "Just the finish that our bower required," was a general remark, and a great many kept exclaiming, "So tasteful!" "So sweet!" "How elegant!" "Exquisite!" "It's a love!"

"It's a dear!" and so on. A great deal more was said, but the oldest bower bird, thinking that all the adjectives were getting used up, told the frogs and crickets to start the music again, so as to keep the excitement going, and all further observations were drowned in the noise.

Presently the younger birds flew down to the bower, and began to play and dance. Like a troop of children, they ran round and round the bower, and to and fro through it, gleefully chasing each other. Then they would a.s.semble in groups, and hop up and down, and dance to one another in what Dot thought a rather awkward fashion; but she was thinking of the elegance and grace of the Native Companions, who can make beautiful movements with their long legs and necks, whilst these little bower birds are rather ungainly in their steps.

What amused her was to see how the young c.o.c.k birds showed off to the little hens. They were conceited fellows, and only seemed happy when they had five or six little hens looking admiringly at their every movement. At such times they would dance and hop with great delight; and the little hens, in a circle round them, watched their hops and steps with absorbed interest. Immensely pleased with himself, the young dancer would fluff out his feathers, so as to look as big as possible, and after strutting about, would suddenly shoot out a leg and a wing, first on one side and then on the other, then spring high into the air, and do a sort of step dance when his feet touched the earth again. Endless were the tricks he resorted to, to show off his feathers and dancing to the best advantage; and the little hens watched it all with silent intentness.

In the meantime the frogs and crickets stopped to rest, and Dot could hear the conversation of some of the old birds perched near her. A little party of elderly hens were discussing the young birds who were dancing at the bower.

"I must say I don't admire that new step which is becoming so popular amongst the young birds," said one elderly hen; and all her companions rustled their feathers, closed their beaks tightly, and nodded their heads in various ways. One said it was "rough," another that it was "ungainly," and others that it was "unmannerly."

"As for manners," said the first speaker, "the bower birds of this day can't be said to have any!" and all her companions chorused, "No, indeed!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE BOWER BIRDS]

"In my young day," continued the elderly hen, and all the group were sighing, "Ah! in our young days!" when a young hen perched on a bough above them, and interrupted pertly, "Dear me! can't you good birds find anything more interesting to talk about than ancient history?" At this the groups of gossips whispered angrily to one another "Minx!" "Hussy!"

"Wild Cat!" etc., and the rude young bird flew back to her companions.

"What I object to most in young birds," said another elderly hen, "is their appearance. Some of them do nothing all day but preen their feathers. Look at the over-studied arrangements of their wing flights, and the affected exactness of their tail feathers! One looks in vain for sweetness and simplicity in the present-day young bower birds."

"Even that is better than the newer fashion of scarcely preening the feathers at all," observed yet another of the group. "Many of the young birds take no pride in their feathers whatever, but devote all their time to studying the habits of out-of-the-way insects." A chorus of disapproval from all present supported this remark. "Studies that interfere with a young hen's appearance should not be permitted," said one bird.

"What is the good of knowing all about insects, when we live on berries and fruit?" asked another.

"The sight of insects gives one the creeps!" said a third.

"I am thankful to say all my little hens care for nothing beyond playing at the Bower and preening their feathers," said an affectionate bower bird mother, "They get a deal of attention paid to them."

"No young Satin Bird would look at a learned little bower-hen," said the bird who had first objected to untidy and studious young hens. "For my part, I never allow a chick of mine even to mention insects, unless they are well-known beetles!"

Dot thought this chattering very stupid, so she went round a bush to where the old fathers of the bower birds were perched. They were grave old fellows, arrayed in their satin blue-black plumage, and she found them all, more or less, in a grumbling humour.

"Birds at our time of life should not have to attend parties," said several, and Dot wondered why they came. "How are you, old neighbour?"

said one to another. "Terribly bored!" was the reply. "How long must we stay, do you think?" asked another. "Oh! until these young fools have finished amusing themselves," answered its friend. The only satin birds who seemed to Dot to be interested in one another, were some engaged in discussing the scarcity of berries and the wrongs done to bower birds by White Humans destroying the wild fig and lillipilli trees. This grievance, and the question as to what berries or figs agreed best with each old bower bird's digestion, were the only topics discussed with any animation.

Dot soon tired of listening to the birds, and returned to the Kangaroo, who asked her if she cared to stay any longer. The little girl said she had seen and heard enough, and, judging by this one, she didn't care for parties.

"Neither do I," whispered the Kangaroo; "they make me feel tired; and, somehow, they seem to remind one of everything one knows that's sad, in spite of all the gaiety."