SEPTEMBER REVELRY 41 



nests of the Thrush and Yellow Robin tucked away 

 amid the screening bushes of a stump. 



Strolling through the bush on a bright morning 

 in early Spring, my roving eye was caught 

 by a few tell-tale shreds of bark protruding from 

 a bush-crowned stump only a few feet in height. 

 As the footsteps approached, off flew a Regent 

 Honeyeater. There was one young bird in the nest, 

 and the cheeping of this babe roused the parents 

 to a high pitch of excitement. First they came 

 themselves, darting at my head, and chattering in 

 musical anger. Then they brought numerous rela- 

 tives, and the whole company set up a hue and cry 

 that continued until the intruder departed, upon 

 which they cooed softly together. It was an alto- 

 gether mellifluous chorus, expressively embodying a 

 mixture of fraternal thanks and congratulations. 

 "We hope," those sweet-voiced parents plainly said, 

 "to do as much for you all some day!" 



I am reminded here that in the case of other of 

 the nesting Honey-Birds of September the voicef ul 

 protest at human intrusion is reinforced by a clever 

 artistry. The Yellow-tufted and White-plumed spe- 

 cies have not the melodious voice of their Regent 

 relative, but each of the little creatures is adept at 

 feigning to be wounded when its treasures are 

 menaced. John Burroughs restricts this ruse in 

 America to birds which nest on the ground. There 

 is no such limitation in Australia. Several of our 

 ground-dwelling birds (notably the Babbling- 

 Thrush) will flutter off their nests and drag them- 

 selves along the earth when danger threatens, but 

 none is a more consummate actor than the Yellow- 



