22 BUSH DAYS 



two men came along, stopped, and looked curiously up into 

 the fig. 



" It's a canary," said one. 



" Yes, and a fine singer," said the other. 



The small boy looked at me in triumph ; " Er-r," he sneered. 

 " I told you so." 



But I was not yet convinced. 



"Can you see it?" I asked the men; but though they too 

 were gazing into the branches with penetrating eyes, they 

 could not get a glimpse of the singer. 



Just then we were joined by a youth, who, after staring at 

 us for a time, addressed me 



" Lost your canary, Miss?" 



" I'm looking to see if it is a canary," said I, all the 

 stubbornness in me aroused to the settling of this question. 



" What else could it be?" asked one of the men. 



" I think it's a silvereye." 



" A silvereye !" exclaimed all three in astonishment, and 

 their subsequent silence left me in doubt as to whether they 

 thought me a lunatic, or merely an ignoramus. That they 

 did not agree with me was more than evident, and the small 

 boy sniggered at my expense. 



But my triumph was at hand. A movement in the leaves 

 above caught my eye and at last I was able to locate the singer. 



There, seated on a small grey twig, was a small olive-grey 

 bird, whose size alone proclaimed him no canary, even if the 



