remained for a while gazing at his beloved, who sat serenely upon the perch as though nothing had happened.
“Not so fast, young man; we will begin as I intend we shall continue. You may be my husband, but you must learn to keep your place. Now you may tickle my left ear!” said Gertie.
Bertie was overjoyed at this favour; he flew quickly to her side to do her bidding. When he thought that the left side had been ‘tickled’ enough, he moved over to the right side. Biff! again he found himself on the floor. He was amazed.
“Now, look here, young man! let’s get this straight. When I say the left ear—I mean the left ear. Don’t be so impetuous. I’ll do all the thinking in this establishment, and you will do just as you are told.” Gertie was most indignant. “Go, and fill your crop with the choicest seeds, and perhaps I’ll let you feed me.”
Any ‘cave-man’ in Bertie died at that moment, but he loved his G.; also he had a sneaking regard for that strong foot which she used so effectively. So without comment he did as he was bid, under the watchful eye of his bigger and better half.
Thus did Gertie establish her ascendancy over Bertie, and he became her willing slave. Then came the day when Gertie thought it time to investigate the inside of her nest. One morning, she disappeared inside the little villa and Bertie saw no more of her until late afternoon when he was informed that she had laid her first egg. Bertie was very excited.
That evening, Bertie thought it a good plan to keep his beloved company in the nest. Gertie was now sitting tight. He was half-way through the entrance when he found himself projected backwards, and again he took a count. A head quickly followed him through the aperture.
“Young man! haven’t you heard that twin beds are the fashion to-day? Your place is on the little perch outside; there you will stay. At meal-times you will knock upon the door, but don’t you dare to enter!”
Poor Bertie, he was very curious to know what was going on inside the nest, but he never got another peep. At feeding times he would tap, tap, tap! upon the wood by the hole with his strong beak. Out popped Gertie’s head; when she was satisfied that her husband was keeping up to his household duties, then, would she allow him to feed her.
One morning, about eighteen days later, Bertie heard a faint chirp inside the little villa—his firstborn son and heir had hatched. He could control himself no longer; he shot to that hole like a bullet in flight. Gertie had anticipated his coming; she met his headlong rush and bowled him over. This time she did not scold, but followed him down and proceeded to give him a sound drubbing.
“Will you never learn not to bring outside germs into my nursery? Have you never heard of hygienics?”
Bertie did so want to see his babies, but the first he did see of them was about five weeks later when the first chick left the nest. Bertie thought that here was a real pal to play with, and he proceeded to have a jolly game with his son. Gertie was soon on them like a wild cat, and gave them both a hiding.
“You’ll do just as mother tells you, my son! It will save a deal of trouble if you do.”
Little Bertram soon found her words true; it did save a lot of trouble. Also he found that strict obedience meant that he could sit upon the perch much more comfortably—there was no ache under his tail.
So did Gertie the Amazon set her house in order. She set a very strict code for each of them. It was a most peculiar marriage, yet I’m sure that Bertie would not have had it otherwise; he had a silent and secret admiration for his loved one.
Later, when they were all moved to the large flights for exercise, other bigger fellows tried to ‘get off’ with Gertie, but Bertie only smiled as they flew shrieking to the hut to nurse their wounds.
“No one can tame this shrew of mine, but me!” he thought, but he was far too wise to say so. He had learnt that discretion was better than valour.
At eventide, when Gertie allowed her husband to caress her, Bertie found that sufficient recompense for the trying times of the day, and he was content.
BILLY THE BOY SCOUT
CHAPTER VI
BILLY THE BOY SCOUT
His Daily Good Deed
HERE is a story of a young yellow split white budgie. He was not a very desirable bird, for he was not pretty; he was, in fact, a mongrel. His colour precluded him from being useful as an exhibition bird, but any dog lover who may read this story will know how faithful these mongrels, the throw-outs, can be. They make such pals.
While Billy, the unwanted, was quite a baby he was taken from the aviary into the house to be taught to talk. He soon won the affections of his master and mistress, Mr. and Mrs. General Dealer.
At first he was very shy and timorous, but he soon got over that. Much can be accomplished by patience and kindness, and eventually Billy lost his fear and once more became his perky little self.
He was a cocky little fellow, full of vitality and ingenuity. Full of mischief, quick on the uptake, he was happy the whole day long.
Each morning Billy woke the hous by ringing his bell. “Time to get up, you sluggards,” said he. “Come on! what about my daily dozen?” he persisted. “Open that cage door!”
He had learnt how to open the door by himself, so at nights it had to be securely fastened, or it would have been ‘Good-bye, budgie’.
Once the cage door was opened Billy took his exercises. First a few times round the room to stretch his wings, then up and down the chandelier chains, mostly using his beak; this was to take the kink out of his neck. Budgies sleep with their heads tucked up under their wings, which gives them a nasty kink in the neck; if you don’t believe it, try it yourself some night.
Then of course his legs were a wee bit cramped; they must be straightened out.
If you slept with one leg tucked up into your tummy you might feel a little creaky in the joints. (All healthy birds sleep standing upon one leg. The lifting of one leg causes the other one to grip so that the bird does not lose its balance while dozing, and so fall off the perch.)
So upside down Billy swung on the chains, gripping with his claws and flapping his wings at a terrific rate meanwhile. This created a pull on his feet and so stretched his joints.
“Well, it’s good to be alive!” said Billy, his exercises over. “Now for a spot of breakfast.” Down he came, to perch on the edge of Mrs. G.D.’s cup, and sipped the tea. “Not sweet enough,” said Billy with a grimace, and he flew over to his master’s cup. “Ah! that’s much better.” Mr. G.D. possessed a sweet tooth. Having drunk his fill, Billy next perched upon his master’s hand and nibbled a few crumbs of bread, chattering between each mouthful.
Exercises over, his hunger appeased, Billy thought it time to spruce up a little, so across to his cage he flew and splashed about in the water-pot for awhile, then to the mantle-shelf, where he carefully preened his feathers before the mirror. “There!” he said, examining himself in the glass, “that should do. Every feather in its place, thanks to ‘Aqua pura’.”
About this time the
