Little Bird 
Friends. 
THE BIRD WORLD. 
( I0 7) 
The Late Mrs. T. 
When I bought Toff I bought his little wife, 
too. Her name was Opal. She was very pretty, 
but not so smart as her husband, being nearly 
all light grey, but she, too, had a red beak and 
legs. You cannot possibly imagine two people 
more devoted to each other than these two were. 
They would roost in the same little rush nest, 
squeezed close together, sit together on the perch 
when wanting a rest, bathe together, and in fact 
they were never separated. If Opal said, “ I 
shall go and get some millet seed,” he always 
answered, “ I want some too, roo-too-too ! ” and 
together they would go down to eat. If Opal 
had said, “ I want some canary seed,” his answer 
would have been just the same, “ I want some, 
too.” Curiously enough, they were always both 
thirsty at the same moment. In fact, their two 
lives were like one life. But, alas, gradually 
Opal began to get ill. I never found out what 
was the matter with her. She still enjoyed her 
meals, and her feathers were sleek and neat as 
usual, but she became weaker and weaker. She 
used to come down to eat, and then scarcely be 
able to fly up to the little nest again, though I 
could see nothing wrong with her wings or claws. 
Toff took the greatest care of her. While she 
was feeding he stood close by in case any of the 
other birds should worry her, chattering of course 
all the while in his fussy way. “ My wife’s here, 
now don’t disturb her—don’t disturb her.” 
The Beginning of the End. 
At last she really could not get up to her nest. 
Then whenever I came into the room I looked 
to see where she was. Sometimes she was sit¬ 
ting for cosiness in the seed drawer, Toff stand¬ 
ing by. Then I called her, and she came out, 
and let me take her up in my hand. I opened 
one of the upper doors of the cage, and though I 
could not quite reach the nest, I could almost. 
She hopped from my hand on a branch, and then 
into the nest, and called out delightedly, “ Toff, 
Toff, Toff ! ” He darted up to her, kissed and 
petted her, and then they sat cuddled up together. 
I did this several times a day. But in less than 
a week one morning I found her dead. Ah, it 
was sad to see Toff’s sorrow then ! 
The Way of the Widower. 
He seemed really heartbroken. He blew his 
little trumpet all day, calling, calling, and get¬ 
ting no answer. He was scarcely still a moment, 
jumping behind branches, under the seed boxes, 
inside the seed-boxes, into all the corners. When 
I came near the cage he cheered up and roo-too- 
tooed brightly. He had grown accustomed to me 
handing him up his little wife, and he felt sure I 
had her somewhere. Poor little fellow; he had 
his rush nest all to himself that night. The next 
morning, though he still called “ Opal, Opal,” 
and searched for her in corners, he was able to 
enjoy himself a little, and on the third day—shall 
I confess it? Yes, I must tell you the truth—he 
really seemed to have forgotten her, and was his 
own jolly, fussy little self again. 
Why Birds Forget. 
Now his love and devotion to Opal were most 
genuine, so how was it he could so soon put her 
out of his thoughts? Well, birds, as a rule, are 
very quick in all their ways. The heat of their 
bodies is greater than that of any other animal, 
their circulation more rapid than most. Their 
eyes are wonderfully sharp. Throw a few crumbs 
of bread on the ground when not a bird is in 
sight. How long will it be before ever so many 
are down ? They are after the crumbs instantly. 
Their feelings, too, though so warm at the time, 
are not lasting. A sudden noise, a passing 
shadow even, will apparently throw a flock of 
birds who are down feeding into a perfect panic 
of terror. They rise from the ground in a 
hustling crowd, eager to hide themselves any¬ 
where. But the next instant, instead of crouch¬ 
ing trembling in their retreat, their little hearts 
beating with fear, as one would expect, down 
they are again, as cool and self-possessed as be¬ 
fore. No, it was no want of feeling that made 
Toff so soon get over his loss, only the wonderful 
spring of life and joy within him, and I must say 
it pleased me that it was so, for a moping, un¬ 
happy bird is as unnatural and painful a thing as 
an unhappy child. 
From a Land of Contraries. 
Where is Toff’s birthplace? Nearly as far away 
as it can be, to be on this earth at all. I remem¬ 
ber when I was a child my old nurse used to tell 
me that if we could make a very deep hole right 
through the world till we came out the other 
side we should be in Australia. This is not 
strictly true, but it is not very far wrong. 
Australia is, as you know, an island, but it is so 
large, larger than the whole of Europe, that it 
is commonly spoken of as a continent; and it is 
part of the British Empire. Everything in 
Australia seems to be just exactly opposite to 
what we are accustomed to in England. Mid¬ 
summer there is at Christmas, and the shortest 
day is in June. True, the sun rises in the east, 
but he passes round by the north to his setting in 
the west. The south wind there is a cold wind, 
the north a warm one. The native trees and 
plants, and the native animals, too, are different. 
There are wild swans, but instead of being white 
they are black. 
Natives and Immigrants. 
When English people began to settle in 
Australia, they for love of Old England intro¬ 
duced English trees, flowers, and animals. Most 
of these soon grew accustomed to their new 
home; indeed, so much so that some, especially 
the rabbits, multiplied to such an extent that 
they became a perfect nuisance. The Australian 
