264 
BRAMBLES AND BAY LEAVES. 
on the tip of my nose—a performance which we call 
“ knocking at the door ” and “ Posy/* the rose-billed 
parakeet, is having a noisy quarrel with Patty, the red¬ 
headed parakeet, about getting on the top link of the 
chain, which is suspended in the bird-room for their 
scansorial exercises. Eosy has touched the topmost link, 
and her long tail is in Patty^s way of reaching it, so they 
are scolding each other most vociferously, and the excite¬ 
ment is shared by the rest of the family, and a terrible 
screaming and trumpeting is the result. It so happens 
that Trot is permitted to do things forbidden to the rest. 
He is allowed to pull my hair, nibble my ear, and thrust 
his mandibles into my waistcoat pocket, in a search for 
nuts; now that a small confusion has arisen, he joins 
the chorus, and is shouting at the top of his voice, and 
displaying his daffodil crest, like the war gear of a white 
Indian. Why I note these things is that they make 
Pido sad. Pido is jealous. Pido desires to monopolise 
my affections, and though he is on the best of terms, 
apparently, with the birds, I believe that in secret he 
would like to make savoury meat of them. But if some 
intruder were to enter the house in the night, and 
attempt to carry off one feathered pet from the family, 
would Pido rejoice to see one rival taken ? Not he. 
Woe to the marauder while Pido has the use of his 
limbs and fangs. But this noise must be stopped, and 
it is but short work under my system of discipline. One 
smart clap of the hands will suffice to demand attention. 
There-—all is quiet, and into their several cages they go 
with wonderful celerity. Even Trot is disposed of, foi 
I am tired of his impudent fidgetting. Now it amuses 
