“Oh!” cried Berty, “I know you can laugh and whistle, but I didn’t know you could talk. Where did you learn?” [[316]]
“In a cage on the Murray River,” replied the bird, laughing loudly. “I belonged to a squatter named Wake—Stephen Wake. He took me out of a nest when I was a wee urchin like you and taught me all I know.”
“Good gracious! Why, you can’t be our Jack?” cried Berty joyfully.
“That’s just what I am; Jack the Rover. Ha-ha-ha! Ho-ho-ho!” replied the bird, ruffling his feathers in great glee. “Ever since my wings have grown I have taken flights from the station when it suited me. Yesterday, I heard you were lost in the bush; so I came after you on my own account, and found you asleep under this tree.”
“You are a very kind fellow, Jack,” said poor Berty with tears in his eyes and in his voice.
“Not half so kind as you have often been to me, my boy,” replied the bird gravely. “Don’t you remember when Tom nearly broke my legs with the bullock hobbles how you nursed and fondled me, and gave me tit-bits of sugar and cream, and hid me in the stable loft until I was well again? Ho-ho-ho!”
“It is wonderful,” cried the child, with wide-open astonished eyes.
“Not at all. There is nothing wonderful in kindness, Berty Wake. That is natural. The wonderful [[317]]part lies in gratitude, my dear. Gratitude moved me to find you, if you were alive. Now here we are.”
Little Berty laughed, and the bird followed suit with interest.
“I suppose you are hungry?” said the bird.