Maggie had really no conscience. She began to gad about the bush. In her girlish days she wore short frocks, as it were, having had her wings clipped, but the next spring she went into society, was a debutante, wore a dress of black and white satin which shone in the sun, and she grew so vain and flighty, and strutted about so, that it was really ridiculous to watch her. 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. It was in the papers, though--no cards--and all the best society ladies knew it of course."
"Why, Maggie, you don't mean to say you have got a mate?"
"Of course I have, you horrid man, you are so vulgar. We were married ages ago. I didn't invite you of course, because I knew you would make yourself disagreeable--forbid the banns, or something, and scare away all the ladies and gentlemen, for you are a most awful fright, with your red hair and freckles, so I thought it best to say nothing about the engagement until the ceremony was over. It was performed by the Rev. Sinister Cornix, and it was a very select affair, I assure you, and the dresses were so lovely. There were six bridesmaids--the Misses Mudlark. The Mudlarks, you know, have a good pedigree, they are come of the younger branch of our family. We were united in the bonds under a cherry tree. Oh! it was a lovely time, it was indeed, I assure you."
"And where are you living now, Maggie?"
"Oh, I am not going to tell you; you are too inquisitive. But our mansion is on the top of a gum tree. It is among the leaves at the end of a slender branch. If Hugh Boyle tries to kidnap my babies, the branch will snap, and he will fall and break his neck, the wretch. Oh, I assure you we thought of everything beforehand; for I know you keep a lot of boys bad enough to steal anything."
"And what sort of a mate--husband, I mean--have you got?"
"Oh, he is a perfect gentleman, and so attentive to me. Latterly he has been a little crusty, I must admit; but you must not say a word against him. If you do, I'll peck your eyes out. A family, you know, is so troublesome, and it takes all your time to feed them. There are two of them, the duckiest little fluffy darlings you ever saw. They were very hungry this morning, so when I saw you digging I knew you wouldn't begrudge them a breakfast, and I just flew down here for it. But bless my soul, the little darlings will be screaming their hearts out with hunger while I am talking to you, and himself will be swearing like a Derviner. So, by-by."