48 BUSH DAYS 



the links waited a moment to gaze and admire ; while the flame 

 breasted robin sang his loudest song from the top of the old 

 grey fence, in praise of wattle and spring time. 



That was in the morning of the golden October day. By 

 midday the wind, which had been playfully boisterous, grew 

 really angry, and chased the clouds, big and little, in a scud- 

 ding race across the sky. He blew them right before the sun's 

 face, and dimmed the light; and he shook the poor flowers' 

 spikes in rage, till they almost broke before his fury. 



" Spring, is it?" he seemed to say, in his roaring voice. 

 " I'll soon show you whether it is spring or not." And he 

 blew the clouds so hard and fast that at last they could stand 

 it no more, but broke in wet protest, pouring their heavy 

 showers upon the wattle sprays, the flame-breasted robin, the 

 golfers, and the hundreds of picknickers in the gullies. 



The flowers bowed their heads before the onslaught, and 

 the golfers, picknickers. and robin all ran for shelter from the 

 deluge. 



" Ah, ha!" laughed the wind. " How do you like this kind 

 of spring? Or perhaps you like this kind better?'' 



He puffed once more, and the watchers saw some tiny 

 white flakes come floating through the air. At first they came 

 in ones and twos ; but soon they were arriving in myriads, 

 faster and faster, and whiter and whiter ; and the robin crept 

 closer to his sheltering branch, for it was a snowstorm. 



