You can imagine
his reproof--"Get away from this. Don't crowd a fellow. Go to a rock of
your own. This is my place. You spoil my sport!" Then, remembering that
domestic tiffs were not edifying to strangers--and there was the sober
brown curlew looking on--the bird let his angry feathers subside, and made
way for his spouse on the best point of the rock. Each on one leg, they
stood shoulder to shoulder, the very embodiment of connubial bliss. I
noticed, too, that the mistress was allowed to fish to her heart's
content, the master never raising a feather in remonstrance, though she
gobbled up all that came along.
Low-lying Mung-um-gnackum, the abode of the varied honey-eater, the
tranquil dove, and the brooding-place of the night-jar (CAPRIMULGUS) and
lovely Kumboola, lie to the south-west, a bare half-mile away.
Kumboola's sheltered aspect is thickly clad with jungle; a steep grassy
ridge springs from the blue-grey rocks to the south-east; and on the
precipitous weather side grow low and open scrub and dwarf casuarina.
Here is a natural aviary. Pigeons and doves coo; honey-eaters whistle;
sun-birds whisper quaint, quick notes; wood swallows soar and twitter.
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