The invitation, which was written with sap of the red-ink plant on the white side of a musk-leaf, said : "The Lyre-birds present their compliments to the children of Down Under, and will be glad to have them at a concert and dance at Flannel-tree Glade, Blue Range, on Thursday, at what o"clock.
"Directions-Take the red path through Cherry-tree Grove over Jack"s Look-out, where they may look out for a while, and then across the stepping stones. Mind the stone that wobbles."When the children reached the glade, the Kangaroo came over with a hop, skip, and a jump to meet them. "The artists are getting ready," he explained, "and they"ve asked me to take the chair on a log, because, though we kangaroos have long tails, we don"t make long speeches. Those little red mounds of earth, which are all swept clear of dead twigs and fallen leaves, are their dancing places. You won"t have long to wait. Just sit down and have a chat. Take that blackwood log.""Do you mean the log wearing the green plush?" asked Ohmy.
"Don"t be silly, Ohmy," whispered the Bush Boy. "That isn"t plush; it"s long moss and little wee ferns all mixed up together, and it grows always in the shade.""Green seems to be very much worn up here," said the Town Girl. "The tree-ferns wear their green capes on one side only. It goes well with their brown costume, and those big frond hats. One doesn"t really need a parasol with hats like that.""But why do they call the log blackwood," asked Query, "when it"s not black?""You might just as well call it that as anything else," remarked the Kangaroo. "If you cut the blackwood it"s red wood. Perhaps that"s why.""It"s like the blackberry," said the Bush Boy. "Mother used to say that when a blackberry was red it was green. They call blackwood dogwood sometimes.""Oh, that"s because of its bark," explained the Kangaroo, who seemed to have quite a lot of useful knowledge packed away in his pouch.
While they were still waiting for the concert, the mother Lyre-birds, who are always too busy to dance or sing, told about the dinner they had given a few daysbefore, when the Babblers came up to take dancing lessons.
"To begin with, we had snails on the shell-black mountain snails, which are ever so much better than the garden snail for the table, and have a nice pinky taste.""A pinky taste!" said Ohmy, curiously.
"Yes," explained the mother Lyre-bird. "They have a pinky colour, so they must have a pinky taste.""The slug soup was very nice, too," went on Mrs. Lyre-bird, who was always glad of a chance to talk cookery and housekeeping while her husband was busy dancing and singing. "I flavour my slug soup with a sprig of wormwood. The third dish was baked land-crabs. We know their big water-nest down by the river bank, so we never go short.""How do you cook your white wattle-grubs?"asked the Black Cockatoo, who always thought about wattle-grubs- big fat ones-when anyone talked of nice things to eat.
"I bake them on the mountain ash," explained Mother Lyre-bird. "It brings out that nice, nutty taste.""I can hear some of them boring away now," remarked the Black Cockatoo, "in that tree just over your head;" and he cocked his head sideways to listen, and licked his beak with his round black tongue. "I"ll dosome bark stripping there to- morrow and send you over a beakful for lunch.""Oh, thanks," said the hen Lyre-bird. "I often wish that I had a beak as large and hard and sharp as yours. It"s so handy for grubbing, you know."At the other end of the log, another hen Lyre-bird was chatting away with the Wombat, who had a funny way of grunting between words.
Drawn by John Rowell
The Concert
"How is the new-umph-chick coming on?" he asked.
"Oh, very well indeed," said Mrs. Lyre-bird. "His pin- feathers are cutting through nicely, and his brown down baby coat is getting much too small for him.""You ought to have his-umph-voice trained," suggested the Wombat. "He seems to be-umph- breaking it up now and bringing it out in-umph- pieces.""He has his father"s voice," said the hen Lyre- bird, "but takes after me in wattle-grubs. Have you noticed how many soft-shelled beetles are about this year-we had some in a stew yesterday.""Here are the artists," broke in the Kangaroo;"and, if you can"t be quite still, just be as still as you can. You may use one ear for conversation and keep the other for the concert. Our first number is "The Rose and Grey Ballet-by the Gay Galahs."They came on in a flight, always changing colour. All their backs were grey and their breasts rose, so one moment it was all rose like the Aurora lights after sunset; then, as they wheeled on the wing, all grey like a cloudy sky; and it went on changing, first rose, then grey. And, underneath, a band of Native Companions,who wore grey, too, with little red rosettes on the side of their heads, kept leaping and ducking and hopping in such a funny way that it made all the children laugh, though they stopped laughing, of course, to cheer the Galahs.
"The next item," said the Kangaroo, "is an imitation of a crosscut saw, by Peter Lyre-bird." It was a very good imitation, too, but not so nice as the ballet, of course.
"And now," said the Kangaroo, "we shall see the Dell Dance by the Lyre-bird Troupe."They glided into the glade, each with long tail spread like a fan over its back and head, and the two beautiful brown and grey feathers at either end looked like the ribs of a fan. Each ran to its own dancing mound, and circled and swung so lightly, so daintily, that they looked more like winged wood nymphs than real birds. And while they danced they sang-Here we go round and round and round, With not a sound on the camping ground. We"re always found on our dancing moundOn a Thursday after-morning.
"It should be Thursday afternoon," explained the Kangaroo; "but, when you write songs, you have to cut the lines into even lengths and afternoon was too shortto fit."
Miss Flapper Lyre-bird was next with an imitation of a Boobook call, but she was nervous, and, besides, the Boobook was so far away that you could only hear the boo and not the book.
The children were almost as much pleased with the bird as with the note when the Coachwhip-bird gave his imitation of whip cracking, which was called the "Crack- a-jack" in the program. The Whip-bird likes to hide in the bushes, and is more often heard than seen, so that they were all glad of a good view of his greeny black coat, his big fan-tail, his fine crest, and his white collar. "Tu- tu-tu-whish" he called, and his mate after a little while answered "Tu-tue!" which in bird talk means "I"m here." But the best of all, perhaps, was the Mockery Melody by the Lyre-bird Choir. Every bird in the forest seemed to be singing together, louder than but just as sweetly as they always sing, and in between the singing part the Crow cawed, the Kookaburra laughed, the Coachwhip cracked, the Gang Gang creaked, the bark flapped, the axe chopped, and the saw cut.
"It"s more than clever, it"s wonderful," said the Town Boy, "the most wonderful thing in the world. I"m so glad we know them, so that we may come and hearthem sometimes."
But the concert was over now, for the Kangaroo had put up a card with "Finis" written on it.
"That"s a funny way to spell finish," said the Bush Boy, "but maybe he just let the h drop off the end and didn"t miss it."From At the End of the Moonpath, by Donald MaCdonald.
About the Author.-See notes to "A Bird"s Devotion."About the Story.-How can you tell this story is not a black- fellow"s legend? How does one get to Blue Range? What was the "green plush"? What do you learn about the habits of birds from this "fairy" story?
