He does not (as far as my observation
goes) kill for food, but merely because Nature gives him at certain times
and seasons a fiery, jealous disposition, and a truculent determination
to protect his family.
"GO-BIDGER-ROO!"
As the sun shines over the range, the plaintive cooing of the little blue
dove, such as picked the rice grains from the bowl beside rapt Buddha's
hands, comes up from among the scented wattles on the flat, the gentlest
and meekest of all the converse of the birds. The nervous yet fluty tones
are as an emphatic a contrast to the vehement interjections and commands
of the varied honey-cater (PTILOTIS VERSICOLOR)--now at the first
outburst--as is the swiftly foreshortening profile of the range to the
glare in which all the foreground quivers.
Once aroused, the varied honey-eater is wide awake. His restlessness is
equalled only by his impertinent exclamations. He shouts his own
aboriginal title, "Go-bidger-roo!" "Put on your boots!"
"Which--which-which way-which way-which way you go!" "Get your whip!" "Get
your whip!" "You go!" "You go!" "None of your cheek!" "None of your
cheek!" "Here-here!" And darts out with a fluster from among the hibiscus
bushes on the beach away up to the top of the melaleuca tree; pauses to
sample the honey from the yellow flowers of the gin-gee, and down to the
scarlet blooms of the flame tree, across the pandanus palms and to the
shady creek for his morning bath and drink, shouting without ceasing his
orders and observations.
Pages:
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171