"What do you think of the decorations?"
In a temporary lull of the frog and cricket band and the conversation, Dot
and the Kangaroo praised the bower and its decorations, and enquired
politely how the birds had managed to procure such a collection of
ornaments for their pleasure hall. Several young bower birds came and
joined in the chat, and Dot was surprised to see how different their
plumage was from the satin blue-black of the old birds. These younger
members of the community were of a greenish yellow colour, with dark
pencillings on their feathers, and had no glossy sheen like their elders.
Each of them pointed out some ornament that it had brought with which to
deck the bower. One had brought the pink feathers of a Galah, which had
been stuck here and there amongst the twigs. Others had collected the
delicate shells of land snails, and put them round about the entrance.
But the birds that were proudest of their contributions were those who had
picked up odds and ends at the camps of bushmen.
"That beautiful bright thing I brought from a camp a mile away," said a
bird, indicating a tag from a cake of tobacco.
"But it isn't so pretty as mine," said another, pointing to the glass
stopper of a sauce bottle.
"Or mine," chimed in another bird, as it claimed a bright piece of tin
from a milk-can that was inserted in the twigs just above the entrance of
the bower.
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