The Bird Who Gave Milk

H ERE is the Kaffir porter, leaving his feast and hurrying to make his bow before the Prince.

There was certainly good reason for his smile. He had been tied up very uncomfortably, and was under sentence of flogging on the morning when the Prince had first entered the market. But so much business had started up through the Prince's purchases, that the Market King had need of all his porters, good and bad; and this Kaffir porter had just found himself released, and you may be sure he had made himself as useful as possible so that no one would remember anything more about the flogging that was due.

"And now," said he, bobbing his kinky head delightedly, "look at me, who was as a cob stripped of maize in an ashpit! Even my sin is of no account. It is true I had bought a fowl and eaten it up without sharing it with my fellow-porters; but what is part of a fowl in their minds now, after to-day's feasting? My bonds and my flogging-that-was-to-be and my sin have all been swept away; and that I am not unthankful, I will show by my story."

Then the Kaffir porter squatted down on the ground, and everyone crowded round to hear his tale of

The Bird Who Gave Milk

Once upon a time, in Kaffir-land, there was a great famine. The rivers dried and the corn withered and at last the cows became so thin they gave no milk at all. Therefore there was no Amasi, which is milk stored up in milk-baskets and thick as thick; and without Amasi, no one could be plump or shiny.

Nor was the heart light any longer: no one sang on their way to hoe the mealie patches, and no one danced to and from the water-springs, and no children's party was given. In Kaffir-land there are many children's parties, and they last from sunset to dawn.

The only food was millet, and to make that grow, the dry ground had to be dug and raked and hoed every day.

In the far-away hot lands, the men and women go out from the villages in companies and work together; and one day a man, Masilo, and his wife had broken up a patch of jungle grass to clear a new place for the millet, because they had three small children who needed much food.

The weeds were tough and the long grass was like wire, but they worked hard, and when they went home the ground was cleared for sowing.

But when they came back in the morning, they rubbed their eyes and looked hither and thither, for the ground was as if they had never worked there, and there was not a trace of cleared soil to be seen.

Well, they worked again all day, and by sunset the ground was cleared; and Masilo went home. But his wife was so curious, she hid in the long jungle grass beside the place they had dug.

Presently she heard a queer flittering and fluttering in a bush beside their garden, and suddenly a bird flew out and perched on a branch over the dug-up soil and sang these words:

At this, the weeds and grass began to rise, and the ground closed up and became hard and dry and stony, and soon there was nothing there but jungle. Then the bird flew away, and Masilo's wife hurried to tell her husband.

Next morning Masilo's wife hoed and picked at the grass, while Masilo dug a deep hole beside the bush and covered it with leaves.

When the time came to go home to supper, Masilo crept into the hole and covered himself with the leaves, with one hand out under the branch where the bird had perched, and then he kept still, while Mrs. Masilo went on picking and hoeing.

It was almost dark when there came the flittering and fluttering, and then the bird flew out and perched on the branch just over Masilo's hand and burst into a shrill, angry trill when it saw Masilo's wife still working, and cried:

And there was the pick in pieces, and the weeds and clods moving about as if an earthquake were happening, and all the cleared patch disappeared into jungle once more!

But before the bird could fly away, Masilo slipped his hand up, and caught it and came out of the hole holding it tight. And then you may be sure he had something to say!

But the bird had plenty to say, too!

"Now, now, those threats are foolish," it chirped. "I am not the kind of bird that should be killed, for I am a bird that gives milk. Stop squeezing and allow me to open my wings, and if your wife will bring me an eating-mat, I will show you what I can do."

"My wife is not going from here until you have brought back the work of our hands," said Masilo. "Kindly sing another tune at once or you will be squeezed more."

So the bird trilled out:

And short as the song was, the garden began to change again. No sooner did the clods begin to move, than Masilo's wife moved too, and by the time the patch was cleared, she was back with an eating-mat.

Then the bird opened its scarlet wings, showing plumage of milkiest white, and streams of thick rich milk poured down on the eating-mat, enough for both of them and plenty over, so that after the feast, Masilo's wife had to go back for a milk-basket.

"You are too good a provider to lose," said Masilo, and they carried the bird home with them and put it in a jar at the back of the hut, where no one could see it.

"One fly does not provide for another," said Masilo to his children. "Say nothing about the bird to the other children, or else we may wake up one morning to find it gone. Besides which, we need all the milk for ourselves."

So the bird lived in the jar and gave rich milk whenever Masilo took it out and placed it on the eating-mat, and Gingci and Lonci and Dumangashe filled themselves after their parents had finished, and the whole family became so fat that everyone marvelled.

But the other children had only milk from the tree euphorbia to drink, and they could not grow fat on that, and as they watched the little Masilos strutting round with their skins as tight as drums, they whispered together that the little Masilos must be feasting on Amasi.

So one day when Masilo and his wife were busy at their millet patch, a company of children from the neighbouring kraals came to the hut where the Masilos lived.

The son of the Head Chief led them and questioned Gingci and Lonci and Dumangashe.

"One fly does not provide for another," said little Gingci boldly; and, "There is no beast but does not roar in its own den," said Lonci; for the Masilos were so stout and strong, they had no fear of these thin children.

But the Head Chief's son retorted, "All throats are alike in swallowing," and told the children to line up and show their skinny arms and legs, and thin and bony sides, until the little Masilos said, well, if the children would crawl into the hut very quietly, they would see what could be done.

So the children all got down on to their hands and knees and crawled into the hut and sat in a circle, all eyes; for there were the little Masilos bringing out the bird and setting it on an eating-mat, keeping the string in their hands, for the bird was tied to the jar as a dog is tied to its kennel.

Then the bird raised its beautiful scarlet wings and poured streams of rich thick milk enough for every child.

How they laughed and sang and chased one another, and jumped around, while the bird sang for the first time since it had been brought into the hut:

So Gingci loosed the string and allowed the bird to dance.

The bird kept asking for more space, and said if they could untie the string and loose it from the jar altogether, and set it outside, it could teach them a new sort of dance.

So they carried the bird outside and set it on the ground, and immediately it opened its wings and flew up into a tree a little beyond the kraal.

"Follow me," said the bird, "until we can find a place where we can stretch ourselves!"

Off it fluttered, keeping a little way ahead of them, and after it went all the little children, singing and jumping.

And very soon they were out of sight of the village.

The sun never sets without there is fresh news.

When the parents came back home that night no children came running out to meet them; no children were playing round the kraals; no children were climbing the wattle fences. There was nothing but the empty huts.

Very soon there was plenty of sound, for the mothers were calling out their children's names and shouting to the fathers to hunt in the long grass, and soon there was wailing and screaming and moaning everywhere.

The Masilos came loitering after the others, for since they had become so plump they took life easily, but when they heard the hullabaloo they were not slow in racing to their hut, and then they found the bird was gone and guessed what had happened.

Masilo went into the long grass with the others and called and searched and waved flaming torches far into the night, while the lions roared and came nearer and nearer, and the women huddled in the huts and wailed. But though they called till the moon was high, they heard nothing but the roars of the lions, and all gave the children up for lost.

Meanwhile, the children had travelled far away across the veldt. They had even gone beyond the low hills studded with bushes, and had come to the forest on the sides of the great mountains. Gingci and the son of the Head Chief were leaders and showed the children where roots could be dug up, and taught them to build fires and roast them. This made a change from the milk which the bird continued to give in abundance. They loved being in the forest, for in the cleared spaces the bird would pause and teach them dance-steps, and there were many strange fruits to partake of, and flowers to pick and weave in garlands.

But one day, out of a clear sky, lightning began to flash and thunder crashed, and though no clouds as yet appeared, the bird told them they must hurry into shelter, for a great storm was coming. They ran along the narrow forest paths until the procession looked as if a string of jet beads was being shaken into a cup. Far down in a hollow was an old stone kraal, and into this the children tumbled as the storm broke.

And now came a storm such as never had been before. The children were too scared to sleep; and so ceaseless was the thunder, that the bird's milk turned sour directly it gave it to them.

Presently they heard loud groanings and thumpings, and Gingci peeped outside, and there was an Enormous Cannibal, pacing round the kraal and saying out loud: "Ha, ha! I smell fresh flesh; I smell milk-fed lambs; I smell milk-fed sucking-pig; I smell milk-fed babies. Shall I heap fire round the kraal and roast them as in an oven, or shall I cut sharp sticks and broil them? Yes, that will be the best, for then I can catch the gravy in my calabash. I can take my time, for this storm will keep them in the kraal."

The Enormous Cannibal then went into the bush to cut some long sharp sticks. Gingci knew they must be very quick, and out the children crawled, flat on their stomachs, and wriggled into the wet grass in the opposite direction from that in which the Enormous Cannibal had gone.

But the Bird who gave Milk did not like getting its feathers wet, and began to scold the children for leaving the kraal. So that the Enormous Cannibal heard its chattering and fluttering and came running after them with his spiky club and sharp sticks ready for the broilers.

The children were quicker on their feet than he was, and kept ahead; the bird fluttered round the Enormous Cannibal, telling him it was a Bird that gave Milk and would be pleased to give him some; but the Enormous Cannibal had no taste for sour milk, he wanted sweet children.

But Gingci had seen a young palm tree, and he climbed it with all the children after him, for wherever Gingci went they followed. The tree was so slender, the Enormous Cannibal did not dare to climb it, and there all the children sat, well out of his reach. They stayed there for several days with the bird giving them milk, and at last the cannibal grew hungry and went off. The bird followed him till he was safely out of the way, and then came back and told the children they could come down.

But by this time they had had enough of living in the bush, and all asked the bird to show them the way home. It did so, because it had had enough of looking after the children.

The storm had ended the drought, and the mealie patches became moist and green: and one evening as Masilo and his wife were returning home they saw a beautiful sight. The sky was a rich purple with orange clouds against it, and there, before each kraal, on hands and knees, tiny figures could be seen entering the doorways.

The mothers screamed and ran, forgetting their weariness and thinness, and Masilo's wife ran too, forgetting her fatness! In the centre of each hut, the eating-mats were laid out and the children were pouring milk upon them from the calabashes which they carried. Every boy wore feathers of the blue crane, and every girl had woven a garland of fresh green leaves with a few bright blossoms; and round their knees and ankles and wrists and waists and necks all the children wore bangles of grass, plaited in patterns.

They had brought back enough of the bird's milk to last till the mealies ripened; and pumpkins, and sugar-cane, and ground-nuts; for they had been as far as the Great Fish River.

No one ever saw the bird again. After giving all that milk, it thought it had done enough for that village.