THE STORM.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXVIII, Issue 20988, 26 September 1931, Page 4 (Supplement)

THE STORM.

By M. G. DOREHILL. The air was filled with song, joyous and full-throated, coming from where the supple-jacks writhed and twisted their snake-like trails among the Lush trees. But, not a, sign was there to be seen of the bird musician, and even the sunshine filtering through tho leaves revealed her not. Where could she be hidden ? Then, suddenly, with a great rustling of wings, a beautiful tui burst through the trees, magnificent in greenish black plumage, with tufts of white feathers at his throat. He was not tho singer, though, for in his beak ho held a berry, and bo alighted on a trail looking round knowingly. Within a foot of him and loosely secured among the supple-jacks, was a nest of twigs and, from this, there now suddenly stretched a head, eager, as if expecting food. ]t was the lien tui and it was sho who had sung so sweetly. -V joyous bird, she beguiled the long days of sitting in merry song. Only a week beforo in tho golden sunshine of fickle spring had these tuis built the nest between them. Had played and gambolled together, performing marvellous areial flights, opening and shutting their wings and tails in a way that is the tui's very own. How they had romped, calling to each other from tree to tree, for they were a young pair and this was their first nest. Perhaps it' was clumsy, rough, untidy, and badly fixed, high up, oh high above the ground on the supple-jack trail. But they thought it jiorfoct, and when one day the hen laid a small egg within it, their joy was complete. This first egg was followed by several more. Such pretty, pointed eggs they were—whiio flushed with pink. Then tho hen had covered the eggs, and, as she sat through tho tedious hours, sho bad filled the air with her joyous notes, singing upon the. nest as few birds do. Fickle, fickle is merry springtime. The golden sunshine vanished; it grew stormy; rain pelted down; bub with every brightening of the sky, the tui sang as though her heart would burst with happiness. Then came winds, mighty, whirling winds which shook tho supple-jacks, tossing them to and fro, and terror seized tho heart of the little hen. She felt unsafe, for her nest shook with every blast and, toward night, the gale rose to hurricane force, making the trees, creak and bend. Perched beside the nest, though unseen in the dark, was the male tui. Little did he guess tho danger their nest was in, or how insecurely they had fastened it, for such a rude tempest. lint, tho hen knew. Sho could feci it giving, becoming less and less secure as the rushing winds surged round her. Close she sat, crouching down upon tho eggs, feeling that as long as she sat tight, no wind could blow tlicrn from her and thus she dosed.

But, at last, tlic gale reached its height, and with a playful toss, swirled the nest from beneath her, and the few twigs which they had so carelessly flung together vanished into tho night. Startled, the frightened tui struggled for a percji, utterly bewildered by tho darkness and the storm. Then, though vaguely feeling a sense of great loss, she sank into sleep again. In the morning when the light came peeping through the trees, thcro was no' nest on the supple-jack trail. Only a woebegone little lien crouching on nothing, and a puzzled cock fluttering round in bewilderment. Plaintively he uttered a few low notes, for ho was sorely puzzled as to where their nest had gone. Below, here and there upon the ground, lay pink-tinged fragments—broken eggshells.

The tuis did not, greet the dawn with poyous song, for they wero heartbroken. Too sad to eat and almost too sad to move, tliny hung round the fatal sito fill the storm blew over and tho sun peeped out. Then with a sudden burst of mtfody, the male bird burst into spng, for the tni is a merry fellow and can never be silent long. "Cheer up! Cheer up!" he said, " We will start the nest again." And start it again they did, for it was still early in the season. Thcv forgot their troubles with the, passing of the storm, and carefully chose a fresh site, and built a new nest, trying to mako it secure. Then tho hen sat on the fresh nest with all tho-cheerful paticnco of before, until—one memorable dawn—the cock bird again found that all tho pretty eggs had gone, and tiny fragments of them were strewn upon the ground. But this tirno they had changed into queer little things which wriggled—nothing less than baby tuis. And now the bush is alive with important bustle as their parents strive to fill their gaping beaks with fuchsia berries.