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New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXII, Issue 22142, 22 June 1935, Page 4 (Supplement)

Tweet! Tweet!

By M. E. KELSEY

Tliere was a tremendous chattering np in the tall trees of the bush. Mr. Owl was trying to make himself heard above the din, but without much success. Grey Warbler was declaring vehemently that he was going to play the drum, and he didn't care who knew it. A highly-incensed Sparrow flew at hira and gave him an awful nip on the neck. " You are not," he screamed, " the Sparrows are to be the drummers. You Grey Warblers think you can have the best of everything!" "Oh, yes!" said Grey Warbler loftfly, " and so we ought. Look at the children we bring up—not onty our own, but other people's as well. You Sparrows " " Will you all be quiet? " roared Mr. Owl, furiously banging on a tin with an old bone. "Are we, or are we not, going to have a band? You have asked toe to organise the thing and now look at the way you arc all behaving!" Looking very ruffled, he stepped along a branch to a cupboard set in the tree trunk and took out a great number of tiny musical instruments. A beady-eyed Parrot edged along first and received a whistle. The Spar- j row family were given the drums. Grey Warbler's late antagonist thrust out his tongue at him, but Grey Warbler just shrugged his shoulders disdainfully and remarked untruthfully that " anyhow he had always liked the flute the best"—this being the instrument given to him. A row of small White-eyes were thrilled with their violins, and after the other birds were given their various instruments, the whole company descended to the ground. . " Now then," said Mr. Owl, " I will fiit on this low branch and the rest of

you must sit , around in a half-circle." There was a lot of squabbling as they Bettled themselves. Sparrow, in passing Grey Warbler, managed to rip out a whole clawful of feathers. Quick as lightning Grey Warbler reached out a claw, seized Sparrow by one leg and stood him on his head.

Mr. Owl clawed his head in desperation and then thumped violently on his tin.

" Order, order!" he shouted. "When I count ten, I expect you to start with the first bars of 'Who Killed Cock Robin!' "

He gazed sternly around, and the little White-eyes blinked their eyes rapidly and blushed with nervousness. "Attention!" said Mr. Owl. "One, two, three. . . . Go! " Hurriedly they all grabbed their instruments and. indeed, made quite a creditable start. The Sparrows beat their drums as though their lires depended upon <it; the White-eyes sawed away at their violins; the Blackbirds < on the trumpets blew their cheeks out to their fullest capacity, and the whole thing went with a swing—that is, the first page or two. Then they began to tire—some got ahead of the music and some behind until it began to sound like a musical football scrum. Mr. Owl groaned dismally to himself. Mr Parrot soared blissfully up and down the scale, paying no regard whatever to Mr. Owl, the rules of harmony, or the music before him. He was having a wonderful time! The more discordant the notes ho produced the better he was pleased. It fairly set Mr. Owl's feathors on end.

The Grey Warblers led the field home, finishing with a triumphant crescendo on their flutes. A surprised blackbird looked up from hi« trumpet and said"Good gracious! Why, I've three more bars to go yet!" His neighbour. Sparrow, laughed derisively and exclaimed, " Donkey 1"

" Donkey, am I! " snapped the crestfallen Blackbird, promptly whacking Sparrow over the head with his trumpet and then forcibly pushing him in the drum head first, he left him there with his legs waving wildly in the air. Mr Owl banged violently on the tin " Who's that idiot with the whistle? " he shrieked, dancing angrily about on ih-i branch. The other birds loyally kept enforced silence in the case of Sparrow, who's legs, waving wildly, sti'll protruded from the drum. No one wanted to give Mr Parrot away. A sort of fluttering, scraping sound now became very noticeable. Mr. Owl looked over in that direction and at tho sight of the broken drum and Sparrow's legs, his feelings were almost too much for him The other Sparrows' ey«is followed his and then with one accord they swooped to the rescue. Bang, clang went instruments as they were violently hurled to the ground. The Sparrows, angry at this insult to one of their kind, started fighting indiscriminately with all and sundry. Pandemonium reigned I *****

Not far away under a tangled bush lay ttro cats fast asleep. They had been out hunting and were dead tired, so ttafc for quite a time the noise of the birds had no power to disturb them, at last, as the uproar grew louder,

thoy just had to awaken. Ginger,awoke first. He was a lean, rangy cat—crosseyed and rather of a moth-eaten appearance. He blinked in astonishment at the babel of sound proceeding out of the bush somewhere ahead of him. He was just about to awaken his friend George when the latter sat up. "Good 'eavings!" exclaimed the bewildered George, shading his eyes with one paw as he gazed intently ahead. He was a black and white cat. but all in the wrong places—or, anyhow, that's the effect he gave. Three-quarters of his face was black, but one eye looked out of a white patch, giving him the look of a piratt

Loud shrieks and groans from the birds. With one accord the eyes of the two cats met.

" Let's get up nearer, Ginge," said George. Ginger did not answer for a moment. His nose was upraised, twitching and sniffing the air. " H'm," said he at last. " Seems I smell birds!"

"Sakes alive!" exclaimed George. " Let's go, Ginge." Without further ado, they crept and crawled through brambles and bushes until peering round a tree trunk, they beheld an astounding sight. Feathers flew in all directions. Fighting was taking place in pairs, groups and masses. A woebegone Parrot nursed a beak that had been pushed sideways, while a group of frightened White-eyes gazed fascmated from the comparative safety of the outskirts of the crowd.

" Lor! 'ere's a game," whispered George, his eyes glistening, "flow about a juicy bird or two!" " Sounds good to me," said Ginger, crouching ready to spring. Then into the middle of that confused mass they went and had time to slaughter several each of the birds before the rest realised what had happened. Mr. Owl shouted in clarion tones: " Up, for your lives!" and in a flash the whole crowd had vanished into space, instruments and all, leaving George and Ginger to enjoy their illgotten meal in peace.