AND OTHER BIRDS 137 



were seven, twelve, and four. In the evening 

 they were carried back, seated free on shoulder 

 or wrist, and busy in the enjoyment of almond, 

 walnut or sunflower seed. After a few days r 

 caging at any time was discontinued, each night 

 before going to bed I would open the top of my 

 writing room window so that at dawn the birds 

 could fly forth. 



In the early mornings, when I crossed the 

 lawn to visit the various meteorological instru- 

 ments, the little fellows would flash down from 

 gum or willow, follow me up, and as I walked, 

 fasten themselves to my tweeds and cling like 

 bats or burrs. 



Even our tamed Native Pigeons were not so 

 fascinating. In their grass greens, their blues, 

 their crimson braided yellow caps, the Parra- 

 keets were equally beautiful. Their gentle 

 habits and diminutive size were a constant 

 appeal for protection and care. It was 

 delightful to be kind to them, for we were 

 allowed such frank participation in their happi- 

 ness. To wake in the morning and think of 

 their welcome was to be in love. 



There was no discord in the cage or in the 

 rooms about which they used to fly. Once only 

 in my presence was there any manifestation of 

 anger exhibited, and now that the bird affronted 

 is gone and I can in no way again show that my 

 breach of etiquette was involuntary, its memory 

 is the more painful. At the time, of course, 

 apology was offered and reparation made in 

 every possible way, but, in justice to myself, 

 how, I ask, was it possible to foresee, 

 that the presentation of a large black 

 fuchsia berry from a garden variety, would 

 suddenly make the bird furious and cause him 



