A Little Bush Maid | Page 7

harmonious. Bits of slang learned from Jim and the stockmen were mingled with fragments of hymns warbled by Mrs. Brown and sharp curt orders delivered to dogs. A French swag-man, who had hurt his foot and been obliged to camp for a few days at the homestead, supplied Fudge with several Parisian remarks that were very effective. Every member of the household had tried to teach him to whistle some special tune. Unfortunately, the lessons had been delivered at the same time, and the result was the most amazing jumble of melody, which Fudge delivered with an air of deepest satisfaction. As Jim said, "You never know if he's whistling 'God Save the King,' 'Pop Goes the Weasel,' or 'The Wearin' o' the Green,' but it doesn't make any difference to Fudge's enjoyment!"
Caesar was a giant among cockatoos, and had a full sense of his own importance.
He had been shot when very young, some stray pellets having found their way into his wing. Norah had found him fluttering helplessly along the ground, and had picked him up, sustaining a severe peck in doing so. It was, however, the first and last peck he ever gave Norah. From that moment he seemed to recognize her as a friend, and to adopt her as an intimate--marks of esteem he accorded to very few others. Norah had handed him to Jim on arriving at the house, a change which the bird resented by a savage attack on Jim's thumb. Jim was no hero--at the age of eleven, he dropped the cockatoo like a hot coal. "Great Caesar!" he exclaimed, sucking his thumb, and Caesar he was christened in that moment.
After his recovery, which was a long and tedious process, Caesar showed no inclination to leave the homestead. He used to strut about the back yard, and frequent the kitchen door, very much after the fashion of a house-dog. He was, indeed, as valuable as a watch-dog, for the appearance of any stranger was the signal for a volley of shrieks and chatter, sufficient to alarm any household. However, Caesar's liberty had to be restricted, for he became somewhat of a menace to all he did not choose to care for, and his attacks on the ankles were no joking matter.
To the dogs he was a constant terror. He hated all alike, and would "go for" big Tait as readily as for cheerful little Puck, and not a dog on the place would face him. So at last a stand and a chain were bought for Caesar, and on his perch he lived in solitary splendour, while his enemies took good care to keep beyond his reach. Norah he always loved, and those whom he had managed to bite--their number was large--used to experience thrills on seeing the little girl hold him close to her face while he rubbed his beak up and down her cheek. He tolerated black Billy, who fed him, and was respectful to Mr. Linton; but he worshipped Mrs. Brown, the cook, and her appearance at the kitchen door, which he could see from his stand, caused an instant outbreak of cheers and chatter, varied by touching appeals to "scratch Cocky." His chief foe was Mrs. Brown's big yellow cat, who not only dared to share the adored one's affections, but was openly aggressive at times, and loved to steal the cockatoo's food.
Caesar, on his perch, apparently wrapped in dreamless slumber, would in reality be watching the stealthy movements of Tim, the cat, who would come scouting through the grass towards the tin of food. Just out of reach, Tim would lie down and feign sleep as deep as Caesar's, though every muscle in his body was tense with readiness for the sudden spring. So they would remain, perhaps many minutes. Tim's patience never gave out. Sometimes Caesar's would, and he would open his eyes and flap round on his perch, shouting much bad bird language at the retreating Tim. But more often both remained motionless until the cat sprang suddenly at the food tin. More often than not he was too quick for Caesar, and would drag the tin beyond reach of the chain before the bird could defend it, in which case the wrath of the defeated was awful to behold. But sometimes Caesar managed to anticipate the leap, and Tim did not readily forget those distressful moments when the cockatoo had him by the fur with beak and claw. He would escape, showing several patches where his coat had been torn, and remained in a state of dejection for two or three days, during which battles were discontinued. It took Caesar almost as long to recover from the wild state of triumph into which his rare victories threw him.
CHAPTER III

A MENAGERIE RACE
The first time that Jim returned