98 A BUSH CALENDAR 



I stretched myself full length on the rock, humming the line : 

 "What is so rare as a day in June?" 



The answer came back very quickly from a butcher-bird. 

 which sent his song up from the valley below ; his ringing notes 

 were immediately answered by his mate from the other side ol 

 the gully, and I lay and listened with delight to the sweet duet. 

 It was a duet with an occasional chorus, in which thrushes, 

 yellowbobs, spinebills, and chickups all joined at intervals. Even 

 the little rock-warblers joined their chirrup to the choir, as they 

 hopped about the rocks, coming quite close to me as I \ay 

 silently listening. 



But suddenly the chorus was disturbed by a more powerful 

 note, which came round and ringing from the valley. I sat up 

 quickly ; there was no mistaking that note it was the lyre 

 bird's. Then in a flash I remembered again that it was June, 

 and that June is the time when the lyre bird breeds. Supposing 

 I should find the nest? I knew the bird built somewhere in 

 these gullies ; time and again I had heard their voices as they 

 mimicked the other birds of the bush, and so wild was the 

 country all about that it was more like a far-off mountain 

 scene than the outskirts of the city. It was a typical spot for 

 the lyre bird's nest. Why shouldn't I look for it? And why 

 shouldn't I find it? June is always my lucky month, and why 

 should it fail me now? 



I wasted no more time in conjectures, but jumped up, and 

 walked along the rocks at the edge. I had not gone more 



