The canaries had a cage to themselves--a very smart one, with every
device for making canary life endurable in captivity. Certainly Norah's
birds seemed happy enough, and the sweet songs of the canaries were
delightful. I think they were Norah's favourites amongst her feathered
flock.

Finally there were two talkative members--Fudge the parrot, and old
Caesar, a very fine white cockatoo. Fudge had been caught young, and his
education had been of a liberal order. An apt pupil, he had picked up
various items of knowledge, and had blended them into a whole that was
scarcely harmonious. Bits of slang learned from Jim and the stockmen
were mingled with fragments of hymns warbled by Mrs. Brown and sharp
curt orders delivered to dogs. A French swag-man, who had hurt his foot
and been obliged to camp for a few days at the homestead, supplied Fudge
with several Parisian remarks that were very effective. Every member of
the household had tried to teach him to whistle some special tune.
Unfortunately, the lessons had been delivered at the same time, and the
result was the most amazing jumble of melody, which Fudge delivered with
an air of deepest satisfaction. As Jim said, "You never know if he's
whistling 'God Save the King,' 'Pop Goes the Weasel,' or 'The Wearin' o'
the Green,' but it doesn't make any difference to Fudge's enjoyment!"

Caesar was a giant among cockatoos, and had a full sense of his own
importance.

He had been shot when very young, some stray pellets having found their
way into his wing. Norah had found him fluttering helplessly along the
ground, and had picked him up, sustaining a severe peck in doing so. It
was, however, the first and last peck he ever gave Norah. From that