THE BLUE WREN was a helpless, naked mite, with tightly-sealed eyelids, when young Bob Bucknell discovered him in a cosy dome-shaped nest of grass, hidden low down in a thorny bush.
Bob was a selector's son, a barefooted urchin who spent all his spare time wandering about the bush, and along the banks of the river and creeks. He was a nature lover of the impish variety. He would not destroy an egg, neither would he damage a nest, but he played tricks on the birds. For instance, he would put the Redbreast's eggs into the nest of the Native Canary, and the latter's eggs into the Redbreast's nest. His interest in the result, when the young birds were fledged, was so absorbent that he often went without his meals to watch them. Many of his experiments were successful, and at the same time amusing to himself. But there were birds, such as the Swallow, Willy Wagtail, and Lyre Bird, which could not be imposed upon, nor would they tolerate any interference with their domestic arrangements. The last named would abandon her nest if the egg was only touched by hand. The Willy Wagtails, on detecting the scent of Bob's hands on their babies, would discuss the matter excitedly for awhile, then either abandon, or fall upon them in a rage and kill them.
In this way Bob indirectly did a lot of harm, though less than was commonly wrought by "professional" naturalists. Like them he could plead that he was working in the interests of Science.
The Blue Wrens, who were honored with the title of Superb Warblers, were not so particular, or perhaps I should say that their parental instinct outweighed such prejudices. Though shy birds, the parents lingered about, exhibiting the greatest concern and anxiety, while Bob examined the babies in the palm of his hand. There were four in the brood, all so much alike in appearance that the sexes could not yet be determined. But he knew something about Wrens, and before placing them tenderly in the nest, he made a bet with himself that there was only one male among them.
He had no sooner turned away than the parents flew to the door of their home, and fussily inspected the premises and the inmates. The wide gapes and hungry cries of the latter proclaimed that all that was wrong with them was that they wanted more dinner. Though waited on by both parents, they had such ravenous appetites that they were always asking for more.
They were six days old when their eyes opened, and a week later they left the nest. Their tails were not more than an inch long at this time, and all wore a uniform greyish-brown plumage like the mother bird. This was an anxious time for the parents. What with feeding them, and teaching them to fly, and keeping them together, and instructing them to get under cover when menaced by an enemy, they were kept busy from morning till night. Then there was the trouble to get them to roost. The nest-bush was not now their home, but a low bushy tree near by. On a thin horizontal limb of this bush which stood a few feet from the ground, they would perch regularly till the following spring.
The mother would call and call as she led the way. She would flutter to the roost and back again, and, anon, marshal them together when they wandered in different directions. She could not make them understand that they must roost now like the Magpies across the gully, and the Magpie Larks in the box clump, instead of going back to the snug bed they had left. With a great amount of persuasion and no little patience, she at last got them on to the limb. When they were all perched side by side, she, thankful that her day's task was over, settled down at one end of the little row, with the male parent at the other end. In that position they camped every night.
Though the stone Curlews screamed wildly along the ridge, and the prowling dingo sent forth a lonely howl at intervals through the night; though the Teringing (Owlet Nightjar), and the Gooragang (Winking Owl) made weird noises by the river, and the Powerful Owl, who preyed on small birds, passed softly overhead, they feared nothing whilst thus snuggled between the little grey mother and the game midget in blue and black who was her life-mate. The bright, joyous days that followed had really more dangers for them, since the small fry were preyed upon by the common enemies much more than were the larger birds. The sweet-voiced Butcher Bird was a friendly neighbor to most of the feathered kind, but he had a craving now and again for a little poultry. At these times, he attacked any small birds that came his way, whether Wren, or Robin, or Finch. They were also easy game to the wild cats and the skulking fox, which waited for them in the undergrowth, and among the dense tussocks.
In such places, and in low detached covers that dotted the open grassy lands near scrubs, the Wrens, like the Robins and Finches, loved to play, and sing, and feed. They were not gregarious like the Finches, which assembled in flocks of thousands, nor like the Tits and Chats and Robins, which, in a lesser degree, associated in colonies. The half-dozen kept always to themselves, and had their own bit of territory just as other individual families of Wrens had theirs. Each group of Magpies also had its own private hunting ground, and resented intrusion by other Magpies. Their territorial divisions, however, were of considerable extent, and embraced the numerous subdivisions claimed by the Wrens and other unrelated or distantly related groups.
Among the bushes, and through the grass, the parents led the infant quartette. They chatted and fed as they went. Though they could fly, they had yet much to learn. The most important lesson was how to find and catch their food, and how to prepare it for swallowing when they had caught it. The mother, having captured a caterpillar or a grasshopper, would welt it on the ground, run it through her beak, and crush it from end to end. She would then drop it, and try to induce one of the chicks to complete the process. After a moment, if unsuccessful, she would return to it, and chat encouragingly as though she were saying: "See, you take it up like this, hit it till it's limp, then nip it right along with your bill till it's soft. So!"
The manipulation finished, she would offer it to one of them with her beak, and hop nimbly away in search of something else. Moths, flies, including blowflies and March flies, beetles, larvae, cockroaches, and grubs were equally welcome, and with each find she uttered a soft note of satisfaction, and the lesson was repeated.
Such a simple lesson it looked yet they were many days learning it.
When they were a month old, their tails had grown to their full length, and they had so far mastered the art of providing for themselves as to be able to catch the nimble fly. Still, both the adult birds continued to feed them for another six weeks. At times, they fed on the ground in the deep grass, where they met the Quail and her merry brood, and now and again were startled by encountering a foraging Brush Pheasant. The big bird meant them no harm, but his fierce-looking black head thrust through the tangle of blades, did not invite confidence. The Quail did not mind him in the least, except at nesting time, when she knew he would gobble up her eggs if he found them. The Wrens, however, always shifted quickly from his path. At other times they hunted and gambolled by turns in the low bushes. The cockbird displayed his handsome plumage, and now and again poured out a joyous summer song that drowned the squeaky notes of the youngsters.
The young ones were five months old before that budding naturalist, Bob Bucknell, noticed any difference in their appearance. Then the first moult took place. There was now a marked change in one bird. The others merely donned new coats of the same shade as the old. The solitary exception was distinguished by a light-blue tail.
-"Didn't I say so!" Bob exclaimed joyously. "One bluey and three hens."
The blue color marked the male, and here Bob was up against a problem that had doubtless puzzled many a scientist. In most broods he had kept under observation, female birds predominated. Yet, in the breeding season, he had often noticed two, and occasionally three, males in attendance on one female, when all took part in feeding the young. At the same time there were always a number of unmated females. These, he concluded, were young birds. The females did not mate the first year, whilst the males did. In regard to the other matter, his father, who was an old bushman, explained that only one bird acted in the capacity of husband. The other was tolerated because he could not be driven away.
-"But why doesn't he get a mate of his own?" Bob asked.
-"He might be their own son, of the previous brood, who had refused to be turned out, or who has not grown enough to take up domestic duties on his own account. Or perhaps he hasn't been able to find a mate for himself. Small birds have so many enemies, and the females, who are less active and wary, suffer more than the males."
-"They'd want to, to level things up," said Bob, "when there are so many more females hatched than males."
-"There's another point," said his father. "Birds have their attachments like other things. Geese, for instance, are very affectionate. Most birds merely love for a season and then separate. Others, such as the Blue Wrens and Flock Pigeons, choose each a mate when a year or so old and stick to her for life, or until forcibly parted. Perhaps, in the time of choosing, two males are attracted by the same female, and the loser, who is too strongly taken up with her to go away and look for a substitute, becomes an outrageous nuisance and a disturber of the happy home. He haunts the premises and tries, maybe, to induce the little wife to elope."
-"I suppose some of them do clear out with the other fellow?" queried Bob.
-"In the case of a more masterful bird, that either happens, or he takes possession of her and the home, too."
Impressed by these remarks, Bob kept an untiring eye on his feathered friends. He always moved stealthily along by the river scrub, and kept under cover and picked his steps as he approached their haunt, for the Wrens flew off at any unusual sound. In this respect, they resembled the great Lyre Bird, to whom they were allied. First, he would hear the sharp note of alarm. Then one would fly off, and the others would follow in single file. They might hop actively about the bushes, chirping or singing the while, but they would not pursue their ordinary business whilst he remained in view.
Bluey, as he had named the male chick, was now the dominant member of the brood. He was very little bigger than his sisters, but he was stronger and smarter, and ever so much prouder. By virtue of these qualities, and the bit of blue he had acquired in his tail, he put them completely in the shade. He was a little more than ten months old when his second moult occurred. From this ordeal, he emerged the gayest little dandy that could be seen on a grass stem. Not only was his tail a darker blue, but his head was a beautiful blue also, and his bill was nearly black. He was now arrayed in full plumage, which was a lovely harmony of blues and blacks. His sisters eyed him with pride, and perhaps envy, for their own adult dress showed no change in color.
The Redbreasts, and the Flamebreasts and the Yellowbobs, who were friends of his, could flash fine colors, but no color was as showy as his. With his tail cocked straight up, he darted gaily from twig to twig, and practised the rollicking song of his kind, for it was high time for him now to take up his musical lessons in earnest. He was the showpiece among the feathered midgets in the light coverts by the scrub.
As before remarked, he was called the Superb Warbler, and when he had mastered the grand oratorio of his fathers, the title would not be unmerited. Of the sixteen species of the genus "Malurus," some of whom were red-backed, some black-backed, and others marked with white on the back and wings, none could equal him in brilliance of song or dress. His smallest relative, whom he saw when he ventured down by the swamp, was the Emu Wren, who was a quaint little fellow with a light-blue throat and a tail which consisted of six shafts resembling emu feathers. The tail was four-and-a-half inches long, whilst the body measured only one and three-quarter inches. This tiny member belonged to a different group, which included the weird little Grass Bird, the Grass Wrens, and the Rock Warbler.
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