gs and crickets, and the hubbub made Dot feel
like the little Native Bear--as if her "head was empty."

"This will be a very pleasant party," said the Satin Bird, "there is
plenty of conversation, so everyone's in a good humour."

"Do you think anyone is listening, or are they all talking?" enquired
the Kangaroo timidly.

"Nobody would attempt to listen," answered the Satin Bird, "it would be
impossible against the music of the tree frogs and crickets, so everyone
talks."

"I should tell the tree-frogs and crickets to be quiet," said Dot, "no
one seems to care for their music."

"Oh, without music it would be very dull," explained the Satin Bird, "no
one would care to talk. You understand, it would be awkward, someone
might overhear what was said."

As the bird spoke the trio reached the place where the bower was
situated.

Dot thought it a most curious sight. In the middle of an open space the
birds had built a flooring of twigs, and upon that they had erected a
bower about three feet high, also constructed of twigs interwoven with
grass, and arranged so as nearly to meet at the top in an arched form.

"It's a new bower, and more commodious than our last," said the Satin
Bird with an air of satisfaction. "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 sau