by Dorothy Wall
“I just called to show you my knickerbockers!”
“Is that the name of the funny looking thing on your face?” called back the rude butcher-birds again.
This was too much for Blinky. He scrambled on to the branch where the birds stood, and glared at them savagely.
“I might have a funny nose,” he cried, “but I’ve got very sharp claws.”
The butcher-birds twittered and trembled. Their hooked beaks opened with fright and they clung to the tree very tightly.
“What’s all the noise about?” Blinky demanded in a gruff tone.
“Well, you see — it’s this way,” the largest bird began. “Mrs Possum is holding a bazaar in aid of the poor rabbits who came through the bush-fire. Their homes have been wiped out and all the grass burnt, so that there is no food. Some even had their whiskers and tails singed.”
“What’s all the noise about?” Blinky demanded in a gruff tone.
“They shouldn’t have whiskers and tails,” Blinky remarked. “Look at me — no tail — no whiskers. Tails are stupid things,” he said rudely, gazing at the butcher-birds’ tails. “Always getting in the way and making animals squeak and yelp when they’re trodden on. And, besides, think of the extra washing to be done; as it is my ears take an awful time to clean.”
“What polish do you use for your nose?” the butcher-birds asked.
“No polish,” Blinky grunted, “only paws.” But feeling the conversation was becoming personal he asked more about the bazaar.
“Look at me — no tail — no whiskers.”
“Where is the bazaar to be held?”
“Down in the gully,” both birds echoed.
“What’s a bazaar, anyway?” Blinky asked, pretending not to be very interested.
“We all sell things and make things, and there’s lots to see and hear. Last bazaar Mrs Thrush sang for us, and Gertrude Spider spun her finest web and showed us how to catch flies, and Mrs Spotty Frog’s pupils gave an exhibition of jumping.”
“Yes,” chimed in the other butcher-bird, “and just to make things more exciting Mrs Snake shed her skin, her very own skin — even the part that covered her eyes!”
“It must have been wonderful!” exclaimed Blinky in wonderment. “And what did you do?”
“We help to supply the supper,” said the big bird, “and that’s just what we were talking about when you came along.”
“It seemed to be an angry talk,” Blinky replied.
“It’s all your fault!” the little bird piped looking at his companion. “He stole my nicest bird that took me hours and hours to catch.”
“Stuff and nonsense!” croaked the big bird. “Look at the fine birds I’ve caught, and yours was such a teeny thing.”
“But it has the brightest feathers,” complained the little bird.
“I think you’re both very cruel,” said Blinky, looking at the rows of dead birds. “If I had a gun I’d shoot you!”
Hearing this, the big bird put back his head and pealed with laughter. Blinky stood amazed. Such beautiful clear flute-like notes rang through the air. There was Mr Butcher-bird, the cruellest of birds, singing as no other bird could sing, except of course, Mrs Thrush. Note after note rang out and his mate joined in the chorus. The trees seemed to hush their rustling leaves to listen to such beautiful music.
When the song had finished all thoughts of unkindness had left Blinky’s mind. Everything had its own way of being cruel and kind he thought, and after all he must not say rude things to the butcher-birds as he wanted to see the bazaar.
He sat down in a corner of the tree and presently began to nod his little head. His eyes blinked and wouldn’t stay open. The tree was so comfortable and he was so tired. He fell asleep and into dreamland. A dreamland of bears. His mother, Mrs Koala, seemed to be patching bockers, and Mrs Grunty, with her spectacles perched right on the tip of her nose, was shaking her paw and saying over and over again:
“He’s a bad lad, that boy of yours — he’ll be the death of us all!”
Snubby was there, too, peeping timidly round the back of the tree. He looked different, though; something was wrong with his face. And, as Blinky dreamed, he had another look at Mrs Grunty and his mother. Oh, how funny they looked! Their noses had turned into ears and their ears into noses. “How dreadful!” whispered Blinky to himself. “I wonder if my nose is a nose still?” And putting up his paw, he woke up to find himself patting that part of his face in a very doubtful manner.
“Hey! you butcher-birds,” he called out, “is my nose still here?”
“Still there!” the big bird replied scornfully, “I should say it was. Who wants to steal that? We don’t hang up noses in our tree!”
“Well, don’t you dare to touch it!” muttered Blinky angrily. “By the way, when is the bazaar?”
“He’s a bad lad that boy of yours — he’ll be the death of us all!”
“Tonight!” the birds replied.
“May I come?” Blinky smiled his sweetest smile.
“You’ll have to take something or do something if you come, there’s no free admittance. Mrs Possum is very strict about that. Last bazaar Percy Bull Ant tried to sneak in by clinging to Mrs Rabbit’s tail and only that he nearly lost his balance and fell off and gave Mrs Rabbit such a nip, he’d have sneaked in. Mrs Rabbit gave a tremendous leap, and let out such a squeal, that of course he was discovered.”
Mrs Rabbit gave a tremendous leap.
“There you are!” cried Blinky excitedly. “Just what I said about tails. Always in the way.”
“Just as well she had a tail or the sting might have been much more serious,” the big bird replied. “What would happen to you I’d like to know, if a bull ant stung you where your tail ought to be? Tails are a great comfort at times.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean to be rude,” Blinky quickly answered. “But if Mrs Rabbit hadn’t had a tail Percy Bull Ant might have chosen a gum-leaf to hide him.”
“Not him!” the butcher-bird scoffed. “Why, he even stood up to fight and waved his front legs at Sergeant Hornet when he was ordered to put him out. Such boldness. It caused so much commotion that Mrs Possum fell in the lucky dip and the Rev. Fluffy Ears had to help her out. There she was, covered in sand from head to foot and some impertinent young fellow, who I really believe was Willie Wagtail, called out at the top of his voice: ‘Sweet pretty little creature’. Oh, it was really terrible! And all through Percy Bull Ant trying to get in free!”
“I can’t take anything and I can’t do anything,” said Blinky sorrowfully. “But I could look after the lucky dip for them if they want somebody.”
“That’s a good idea,” said both butcher-birds together. “There’ll have to be someone this time to keep an eye on things, and watch most carefully that Mr Wombat does not burrow under the ‘dip’. He’s a cunning fellow and always has an excuse ready. He walks round and round the refreshment stall, sniffing everything and pretending he doesn’t like the look of juicy leaves; and just as Mrs Wallaby thinks he is quite safe and turns her back to have a chat with some friend, he snatches a mouthful of the very best he can see.”
“Well, that’s settled!” said Blinky gladly. “Now I think I’ll have another sleep. I always feel dozy in the daytime, and this corner is so warm and soft. Be sure you wake me in time for the bazaar.”
CHAPTER 7
The Bazaar
own in the gully hidden from view by tall gum-trees, banksias, and tea-trees, right against a huge rock the bazaar was held. Dozens and dozens of birds, insects, and animals, all dressed in their very best, chattering and squeaking, calling and singing, spreading their goods out on the rock, under it, and around it. No little boy or girl could see this wonder show, unless they wandered far off the beaten track, through the tall spear grass, deep, deep in the heart of the bush, away from all noises and people, and far down the valley where the maidenhair fern grows. Then you may be lucky enough to see a bush bazaar. But faces must be clean, hands washed, and h
air combed, as every animal and bird has plumed and preened himself and herself to look their very best. But hush! the Rev. Fluffy Ears is ready to make a speech and declare the bazaar open.
He looks splendid! I’m sure he has been hours and hours brushing his ears, they look so silky. There he is perched on the branch of a tree looking down on all the bush folk, as they sit and hop around, trying to find a patch of grass or rock to rest upon. There is very little room left for even a grasshopper to squeeze in, and some grumpy old ladies like Mrs Owl and Miss Goanna, glare at the younger ones as they try to find a spare seat. The colours are wonderful. Red and orange and purple berries are clustered in huge piles over the rock. Bright green leaves and softest brown toadstools lie together. Birds’ eggs of every colour imaginable are there in dozens to be sold and right up against them are the little dead birds the butcher-birds have brought. This is the produce store and guarding it with glittering eyes is Mrs Wallaby. Woe betide any creature who tries to steal even a berry. Farther away is a wonderful collection of birds’ nests, all shapes and sizes, with a notice standing in the centre:
Guarding it with glittering eyes is Mrs Wallaby.
READY MADE HOMES SUITABLE FOR FINCHES OR MAGPIES MIXED FROM THE BEST MUD AND GRASSES DIRT CHEAP!
Then there were small piles of grit, some red, others black and brown. The notice above these read:
ANTS, TAKE YOUR CHOICE! THE VERY FINEST GRIT ON THE MARKET ALL HALF PRICE!
Under the ledge of the rock sat Miss Gertrude Spider with a very patient look on her face. But cunning, crafty eyes spoilt her appearance. Every hair on her legs was shining, and her body was polished like a door-knob. She had dozens and dozens of webs for sale, and knew very well that the fairies and goblins would be her best customers. Such folk dwell in the gullies and wait eagerly their chance of buying new webs for their clothes. Some webs were made of the finest thread (far finer than silk the silkworm spins) and were glittering with dewdrops. These were the very best and most expensive: only for fairy queens and princesses. Others were just as beautiful, though a little coarser, and had no dewdrops. But, as Gertrude said, they will “stand wear and tear”. Every now and then she pulled a web, tugging it this way and that to show how strong it really was. Curly leaves on the ground were crammed full of flies — some dead, some alive. Others held mosquitoes and sand-flies and some even held small beetles. These were labelled according to their value:
Gertrude’s cunning crafty eyes spoilt her appearance.
DEAD FLIES—QUITE FRESH, YOUNG AND PLUMP TAKE SOME HOME FOR SUPPER
Another was labelled:
FLIES ALL ALIVE! LEGS AND ALL SUITABLE FOR ALL OCCASIONS
The beetles had a special notice above them:
BEETLES IN SEASON! COLOURS NOT CHARGED FOR WINGS AND NIPPERS SOLD SEPARATELY BEETLE PIE RECIPE GIVEN FREE
Gertrude Spider had dozens of customers round her stall. But the beetles who had come to see the bazaar stood aside in small groups, whispering in undertones and glancing nervously in her direction. Farther away in a dark musty corner hidden from view by a huge web was her parlour, and she even had the boldness to suggest to small customers that they should “walk into my parlour”. Just as if no one knew what that meant!
The frogs were in charge of the swimming-pool and had a grand slippery-dip made from a rock covered with slithery moss. Their customers were mostly frog friends, but wild ducks also patronized the slippery-dip. A swoop and a swish and one after another they splashed into the pool, amidst jeering and croaking from the onlookers. The bravest frogs did double-bankers and back somersaults and all kinds of fancy flips and flops. Right across the centre of the pool a branch of a tree rested on either side, and on it squatted a big fat mosquito. This was the greasy pole, and the fellow who was lucky enough to keep his balance while he crossed, had the thought of that fine fat mosquito for a prize.
The mosquito was tied to the branch by the finest spider-web; so he was a prisoner, trembling from head to foot as he watched each new frog take his few steps, lose his balance and go flopping into the pool.
Shh! Shh! There was a sudden silence, and all the bush folk turned to look at the Rev. Fluffy Ears. He waved his paw and flicked his ears, then spoke in a clear dignified tone.
“Ladies and gentlemen, spend all your money at this bazaar as you know it is in aid of our poor friends who are homeless through the fire. Those who have no money can give their services free. Mrs Possum has worked hard for months to make this bazaar a success, so I hope to see a friendly spirit among you all. Don’t spoil things by scratching or kicking your neighbour (as I saw Mrs Magpie and Mrs Peewit doing) or biting and nipping a friend’s tail when his back is turned. It is not kind. And above all remember there is to be no stealing.”
A flutter in the tree and an angry voice from Mrs Flying Fox prevented Rev. Fluffy Ears from speaking further.
“A nice thing to suggest!” she screamed. “Stealing indeed! As if anyone would do such a thing!”
A painful look came over the Rev. Fluffy Ears’ face, he patted his nose, and felt his collar.
“It’s an insult! That’s what it is,” roared Mrs Flying Fox. And she made a lunge at the Rev. Fluffy Ears.
“It’s time I interfered,” muttered Blinky to himself. Up to the present he had been sitting very quietly in a corner of the tree, too surprised and amazed at everything he saw to speak or even show himself. But he was not going to see another bear get the worst of a fight with all these creatures looking on.
“Stop that!” he commanded at the top of his voice. “Stop at once, or I’ll push you out of the tree!”
Mrs Flying Fox darted round to see where the voice came from.
“Oh, it’s only you, is it? Another one of the Koala family poking his big nose into other people’s affairs.” Blinky became very angry, and poor Fluffy Ears began to cry.
“Someone stand below and catch her when I push her off!” he shouted; and before Mrs Flying Fox could believe her ears she was given a kick that sent her flying out of the tree; but to everyone’s horror Blinky’s bockers caught in a twig just as he gave the kick, and there he hung, suspended in mid-air.
“Help! Help!” he screamed. “I’m falling.”
A rip and a split and Blinky parted from the best part of his knickerbockers. Down he fell — thud, right in the middle of a squealing and kicking crowd. It was not on the programme to find a fat, plump bear squashing and kicking everyone within reach.
“Help! Help!” he screamed, “I’m falling.”
“Grab her legs!” Blinky shouted, but no one could get near enough, as he seemed to be raising all the dust it was possible for anyone to do.
“I’ll settle this hubbub!” said Percy Bull Ant, blowing out his chest and advancing cautiously with his two front legs waving threateningly. Edging round the fighters he managed at last to get a grip on Blinky’s paw. Nip, nip, nip he bit with all his might. Blinky gave a spring in the air and came down right on top of Mrs Possum.
Mrs Possum bit him savagely and naughty Blinky at once kicked her, scratching and ripping her best hat to shreds.
“Oh!” wailed Mrs Possum. “Look at my hat, my very best hat!”
“It wasn’t his fault; it’s all through Mrs Flying Fox.”
Here was Angelina Wallaby of all people, and you can imagine how pleased Blinky was to see her.
“Oh! dear Angelina. Where did you come from?”
“I happened to be watching you from the bush, and when I saw you fall, I thought it high time I came along to save you. Just look at your best bockers! What will your mother say?”
“I-I don’t know,” Blinky said nervously, feeling the back of his pants.
“Is it a very large hole, Angelina?”
“It’s so large, that you’ve no bockers at the back at all!”
“Serve you right! I hope you get a good smacking when you arrive home. I hope your mother wallops you.”
“You!” Blinky exclaimed, too surprised for further w
ords.
It was Mrs Flying Fox speaking. She grinned spitefully at Blinky. Certainly, she was bruised after her bump on the ground; but what’s a bump or two, and now, there she stood as cheeky as ever …
“It’s time to start the lucky-dip,” called out Blinky, and trotted over to his stall.
The lucky-dip was a wonderful attraction. A burnt-out stump of a great gum-tree was filled with marvellous things, all tied up in gum-leaves. Everyone who wanted a dip had first to place a present at Blinky’s feet, and a row of bull ants kept guard over these.
The first customer was Miss Silver-eye.
“Please may I have a dip?” she inquired.
“Where’s your present?” asked Blinky.
“Here it is!” she piped as she placed a beautiful red berry at his feet.
“Hurry up and have your dip,” Blinky commanded. So Miss Silver-eye dipped her beak into the lucky-dip.
“What’s in it?” everyone demanded.
“A feather!” said Miss Silver-eye delightedly. “Just what I want for my nest.”
“Next please!” shouted Blinky.
Up came Mrs Lizard.
“Where’s your present?” Blinky asked.
“Here it is,” she said, and placed a dead fly at his feet. Crawling into the bin she came out with a parcel between her teeth.
“Here it is!” she said, and placed a dead fly at his feet.
“Open it!” they all cried, craning their necks to see what treasure it held.
“Poof! It’s only a stone,” said Mrs Lizard disgustedly. “I think the dip’s a take-down.” And tossing her head in the air she wriggled away.
There seemed to be an air of dissatisfaction at once among the customers who waited their turn as each had come with a present that had taken quite a deal of thinking about, to say nothing of the hunting for it.
“No remarks are allowed in future,” said Blinky. “Take the good with the bad. Now who is next?”