86 A BUSH CALENDAR 



On my way home I came across one of the little tragedies 

 of nature. I was crossing a cleared space, and on the grass 

 ahead of me saw a bird fluttering along in a peculiar way. I 

 recognised it at once as a Jacky Winter, but I had never seen 

 one flying in that manner. As I drew nearer I saw the reason 

 why. The poor little thing had a wounded wing. I stooped 

 to pick him up to examine it closer, when immediately an angry 

 parent flew down from a tree and, scolding loudly, brushed quite 

 close to my face, while her mate chattered furiously from the 

 tree. I caught the little sufferer, which fluttered violently for 

 a few minutes, then subsided into frightened quietness. I 

 saw at once what had happened. The shot from a catapult 

 had wounded the shoulder joint, but the wing was not broken, 

 though it was stiff with blood and needed relaxing. I decided 

 to carry the little bird home and doctor it. My flowers, which 

 I had laid on the ground, were as much as my hands would 

 hold, but I have a side pocket in my bush skirt with a flap which 

 buttons over. ' Into this I carefully put the Jacky, who nestled 

 down with a frightened little peek ; then I went on my way 

 pursued by the angry anxious notes of the parents. 



A little warm water and boracic worked wonders with the 

 wounded wing, and after keeping the little bird all day in an 

 empty cage (to which he seemed to grow almost reconciled 

 after a time, especially when I brought him some little white 

 grubs), I carried him back to the clearing and let him loose. 

 He was immediately greeted by his parents, who flew round and 



