Chatterbox, 1906 Part 125

(_Continued on page 402._)

[Ill.u.s.tration: "He finished by backing hard into the small wooden gate."]

[Ill.u.s.tration: "The motor came to a standstill."]

A GENTLE DONKEY.

(_Continued from page 399._)

Peace was soon restored, and by the time that the Common was reached, Mrs. Raeburn had again quite explained away the donkey's behaviour.

'He is evidently very nervous,' she said. 'Poor little beast! Perhaps he has been ill-treated at some time, and dreads the sight of the whip from sad experience; we must take care not to frighten him again.'

'Yes, Ma'am,' acquiesced Mary meekly. 'The mistress drives horses beautifully,' she confided to Nannie later, 'but she knows nothing about donkeys and their artful ways. You take my word for it, that donkey is a wicked one.'

'Now then, pretty one!' chirruped Mrs. Raeburn to Tim as they rambled along the broad road on the Common, 'you must be good, and not show us those naughty little heels again.' Tim whisked his tail in response and trotted amiably along.

'Why, the road is quite gay to-day, Mary! Oh! of course, it is market-day. Now, good little Tim, keep to the side of the road, so as not to frighten these tired sheep. Warm day!' she called out genially to a man who trudged wearily along behind his flock.

But in spite of her kindly precautions, the nervous sheep scuttled across the road on to the heather-clad common, bleating plaintively: then their scuttle became a run. At sight of this flying column, Tim stopped, put his head on one side, and prepared to follow.

'No, thank you, Tim,' laughed Mrs. Raeburn as she tried to pull him up.

'I have no ambition to herd sheep. You little wretch!' she continued in quite a different tone of voice; for Tim was in "full cry" after them.

b.u.mp, b.u.mp, b.u.mp went the springless governess cart over the lumpy Common, rocking from side to side like a boat in a storm.

'What are you doing?' yelled the herdsman. 'I'll report you, that I will, trying to steal my sheep.'

'This is very exciting,' whispered Harry. 'I like driving with you, Mother.'

But Mother was not enjoying herself. Here was she, the wife of a Justice of the Peace, apparently stealing a flock of sheep in broad daylight. At this moment she could have killed Tim.

'This is dreadful, Mary,' she murmured. 'What can we do? Oh, these idiots of sheep, why won't they stop?'

But the terrified sheep, instead of stopping, only increased their speed. Away they flew over the Common, and behind them, in hot pursuit, galloped Tim, while round both sheep and governess cart barked the frantic sheep-dog.

On, on they raced, over hillocks, through gorse bushes, down into treacherous holes, till at last the gate leading out upon a narrow road was reached. Through this surged the sheep, and close behind them tore Tim. The cart gave a bone-shaking dump as it took the descent from gra.s.s to hard road, and Mary, who at the beginning of Tim's flight, had opened the door, was thrown out.

Suddenly a motor was seen coming towards them, along the narrow road, and Mrs. Raeburn gave a gasp of fear.

'Hold your hand up, Harry. Quick--quick!'

Harry, eager to a.s.sist, raised both his arms.

'Hullo!' called a familiar voice: the motor came to a sudden standstill, and out of it jumped Major Raeburn.

'What in all the earth are you doing, Maud?' he said in a voice of the greatest astonishment, as he walked towards them; but Mrs. Raeburn motioned him back.

'Turn the motor across the road as fast as you can, and don't let one of these sheep pa.s.s it!'

So the panting sheep were stopped, and Tim's race was at an end.

'And now, good people, please explain yourselves,' continued the Major.

'Oh, Jack,' burst forth his wife, 'we have had the most _awful_ morning with Tim. He has smashed Mrs. Laurence's gate, run off after these sheep, Mary is thrown out, and I expect is lying dead somewhere, and I don't know where the drover is.'

'And, Father,' interrupted Harry in his shrill treble, 'we have had _such_ an exciting drive! Mother can drive Tim just beautifully!'

'Well, look here!' said the Major, smiling, 'I suppose I must stay here and speak to the drover of the sheep. You two had better go home across the fields. I will drive Tim home,' he added, with a look in the direction of the donkey.

Half an hour later the motor puffed into the stable yard, and close behind it cantered Tim, looking a most angelic little donkey.

'Can't make the little beast out,' said Major Raeburn to his wife, as they walked towards the house; 'I shall take him out myself to-morrow.'

(_Concluded on page 410._)

THE SINGING BIRD.

A singing bird within my heart Has surely built a nest, For every morning when I rise So early from my rest, I find a song for me to sing Is waiting in my breast.

One song is of the flowers bright, That nod in every breeze, Of birds that in the tree-tops dwell, Of b.u.t.terflies and bees, Of fairy-haunted woodland ways, And tall, dark, swaying trees.

Another song it softly croons As from a far-off land: But this a deeper meaning has, I don't quite understand, Because of all the mysteries That lie so close at hand.

These sweet songs thrill me with delight-- I carol them all day; I hope that cheerful singing bird Has really come to stay; But whence it came and why it's here I'm sure I cannot say.

HUGE BIRDS.

Travellers in all parts of the world hear strange and surprising tales about the huge or wonderful creatures which the natives have seen, so they say, and which, perhaps, they also declare they have hunted years ago. People believed all these stories formerly, and put them in books for the benefit of others; but matters have altered now. Travellers'

tales are not so plentiful, because they are not deceived as they used to be, and when they are told, their truth is searched out. The sea-serpent, for instance, has been 'seen' many times, and once at least--in 1906--by properly trained scientific observers. But people are still unwilling to believe entirely in its existence.

Some of the commonest stories brought home from far countries have been about the existence of gigantic birds, and, when we look into these, we find they are not all fables. In many countries, birds quite unlike any now seen, and of huge bulk, existed before man's time; and it is evident that a few of these bird-monsters--shall we call them?--did not vanish till a recent date, so that human beings had the chance of making acquaintance with them.

Australia, New Zealand, and other countries that are on the opposite side of the world to Britain, are the home of many curious forms of life, animal or vegetable. New Zealand has, in time past, been the habitation of a family of immense birds, which have not died out very long. In fact, some suppose there are retreats there where the birds still live, which are seldom or never visited by men of any race. We have no English name for them, so we must give them the Latin one of Dinornis. A search during 1870, amongst the old cooking-pits, or ovens, in the Province of Canterbury, brought to view sundry remains of the dinornis, being a sure sign that some of the huge birds had been caught and cooked.

Farther back, in 1842, there was an account of a strange bird the New Zealanders knew, and called a Moa, published by a Mr. Williams. They told him it had lived in places difficult to reach amongst the hills, and that their grandfathers had seen the bird alive, but they themselves had not, though they had discovered bones of the species in the mud of some rivers. According to observations, the height of the dinornis may have been from twelve to fourteen feet, or even more; it is supposed the birds were numerous at one time, and lived to a great age. What their food was is only to be guessed, probably vegetable, for the dinornis does not seem to have been a bird of prey. The natives described them as running or striding over the ground with tremendous speed, but nothing was said about their being able to fly.