A Little Bush Maid | Page 7

load of birds.

The canaries had a cage to themselves--a very smart one, with every
device for making canary life endurable in captivity. Certainly Norah's
birds seemed happy enough, and the sweet songs of the canaries were
delightful. I think they were Norah's favourites amongst her feathered
flock.
Finally there were two talkative members--Fudge the parrot, and old
Caesar, a very fine white cockatoo. Fudge had been caught young, and
his education had been of a liberal order. An apt pupil, he had picked
up various items of knowledge, and had blended them into a whole that
was scarcely 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