DECEMBER 53 



a thrush went swiftly past, also carrying fopd to its nest in the 

 hollow of a high tree. As I moved along towards the sand- 

 stone I heard a pathetic cry just above my head, and after 

 some looking discovered two more baby Jacky Winters. They 

 were younger than the one who had eaten his breakfast on my 

 fence, but were already much too big for the tiny nest on which 

 they huddled. It truly was "on" and not "in," for the little 

 shallow nest soon ceases really to shelter the young birds. 

 They saw me looking at them, and drew their heads back, trying 

 to hide from sight. But, though they could no longer look at 

 me, I could plainly see them as they bulged over the edges of 

 their tiny home. 



Down through the fence where the sandstone begins T had 

 an experience very common in the mother months. T was 

 walking quietly along, when suddenly, with an angry note, a 

 bright olive bird flashed out from a bush beside me. It was 

 the white-eared honey-eater, and I knew from the tone of her 

 voice that she had babies close by. I stooped down to look for 

 them, and immediately the bird flew almost against my face, 

 and then to the ground a few yards ahead, fluttering along 

 slowly, and dragging its wings painfully, as if they were broken. 

 I advanced a step or two, but the bird for all her apparent 

 helplessness always managed to keep ahead of me. On she 

 fluttered, down the track, leading me further and further from 

 her treasured darlings, then suddenly when she thought I was 

 safely out of the way, with a cry she skimmed off into the 

 bushes, and bv a circular route went back to her babies. 



