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It was the exact tone of a young baby, a naive and innocent cry. What could it be? Was some tramp mother hidden behind the bushes? Was it a new bird with this unbird-like cry? I was startled. But my friend was smiling at my dismay. She pointed to the crotch of a tree, and there a saucy gray squirrel lay sprawled out flat, uttering his sentiments in this abominable parody on the human baby cry.
I seldom rode to that side without getting a sight of a group of deer, often looking exceedingly conspicuous in their bright fawn colour as they stood gazing at the intruder amidst the wide waste of grey cardoon bushes. These rough plains were also the haunt of the rhea, our ostrich, and it was here that I first had a close sight of this greatest and most unbird-like bird of our continent.
When the young have left the nest, if alarmed by an intruder, they will frequently, trusting to their protective dress of streaky brown, freeze into most unbird-like attitudes, drawing the feathers close to the body and stretching the neck stiffly upward, almost bittern-like.
"Of course you ought to be. And Jerry can be secretary because she helped find this spliffy room." "Girls, at the next meeting let's each bring a knife, fork, spoon, plate and cup." "Oh, won't it be fun?" A Raven pirouetted on her toes in a most unparliamentary and unbird-like fashion. "Pat and I'll bring the eats next Wednesday," declared Peggy. "Some one has to start."
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