She began also to stay out late
in the evening, which was very improper, and before going to bed
Philip would go under the lightwood with a lighted candle, and look
for her amongst the leaves, saying, "Maggie, are you there?" She
was generally fast asleep, and all she could do was to blink her
eyes, and say, "Peet, peet," and fall asleep again. But one night
she never answered at all. She was absent all next day, and many a
day after that. October came, when all the scrub, the lightwood, and
wattle were in full bloom, and the air everywhere was full of
sweetness. Philip was digging his first boiling of new potatoes,
when all at once Maggie swooped down into the garden, and began
strutting about, and picking up the worms and grubs from the soil
newly turned up.
"Oh, you impudent hussy!" he said. "Where have you been all this
time?" He stooped, and tried to stroke her head as usual with his
forefinger, but Maggie stuck her bill in the ground, turned a
complete somersault, and caught the finger with both claws, which
were very sharp. She held on for a short time, then dropped nimbly
to her feet, and said, "There, now, that will teach you to behave
yourself."
"Why, Maggie," said Philip, "what on earth is the matter with you?"
"Oh, there's nothing the matter with me, I assure you. I suppose you
didn't hear the news, you are such an old stick-in-the-mud.
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