38 A BUSH CALENDAR 



to-day, when all the world's a-dancing. It is a day for the 

 bush!'' So off to the bush I went. 



The butterflies danced off before me to show me the way. 

 Down the hill they went, where a grass-covered slope runs 

 to the creek. The hillside was a-dancing, too, with the quiver- 

 ing shivery grass, and the blue wings fluttered daintily over 

 the feathery, waving mass. To the creek they led me, where 

 the young fronds of the herring-bone ferns shone red against 

 the vivid green of the older fronds. I stopped a minute to 

 gaze into their funnily-curled tips and touch their soft hairy 

 stems. When I looked up again the butterflies had gone. 

 Perhaps they had flown on to entice someone else out to the 

 trees and grass. I was sorry to lose the beautiful things, but 

 I no longer needed their guidance. They had shown me the 

 way and I would find the rest for myself. 



The question was not which way to go, but which way not 

 to go, for something called on every side. Just behind me as 

 I stood came a running stream of song, sweet and clear. It 

 was the voice of the native canary, as he sat in the lower 

 branches of a small gum, only a few yards from me ; with the 

 morning sun on his bright yellow breast and small white 

 throat, he more than rivalled his namesake in colour and 

 sweetness. Xear him, on a small twig sat his little mate, 

 with wings outspread, busily preening herself. They did not 

 move as I stepped towards them, but, even when I found their 

 little nest hanging in the sapling beneath them, went on quite 



