Mister Cassowary Read Online Free PDF

pushing gecko droppings off the windowsills and sweeping the leaves off the veranda. I wondered if any of the crocodiles from the croc farm were still on the loose. What would I do if I saw one? There were plenty of tall trees around Grandad’s garden. Maybe I’d climb the nearest tree. Crocodiles couldn’t climb, could they?
    I stopped sweeping to wipe away the sweat dripping down my face. Who knew it would be so hot at Mission Beach? I was about to start sweeping again when I heard a sound.
    â€˜Peep. Peep. Peep.’
    What was that?
    I stood and listened, shooing mozzies from my face.
    There it was again.
    â€˜Peep. Peep. Peep.’ It was coming from somewhere in the front yard.
    I leant the broom against the bricks, and crept across the lawn towards the sound. I checked behind me, hoping Dad wasn’t watching. He was clunking around in the shed so I turned back to the trees. Fingers of light filtered down through the circular palm fronds above me, making a kaleidoscope of brightness and shadows.
    The next ‘peep’ was close. I stood still as my eyes adjusted to the gloom. Suddenly, two feathery bodies raced out from behind a tree. The strange critters were no taller than my knees, and had yellowy heads and orange legs, like ducklings. Their bodies were striped with brown and yellow, and their long fluffy necks stuck out in front of them as they ran, making them look like Road Runner. I watched as they disappeared behind some bushes.
    Weird!
    I ran after them, pushing through the long grass, and found myself standing before a swampy creek. Murky water surrounded the bases of gnarled paperbark trees. It stank like the muddy mangroves near my house.
    I turned, my heart thumping, as the critters ­reappeared. It was like they were playing hide-and-seek, whizzing past and splashing water as they went.
    What were they? Their feathers were fluffy like a baby bird’s, but they didn’t appear to have wings. And even though they were about the size of an adult chicken, they were lean and elegant, not short and fat like a chook. And they definitely weren’t ducks. Their beaks were too pointy.
    The chick closest to me skidded to a stop. It cocked its head and looked up, its brown eye blinking in surprise.
    â€˜Hey,’ I whispered. ‘What you doing, mister? Having fun?’
    The baby tipped its head the other way, looked at me a second longer, then darted off to find its friend. Suddenly, the second chick appeared, stepping out from behind a low hanging branch. They banged straight into each other making the second chick drop the bright red berry it was holding in its beak. I laughed as he picked it back up again, his beak stretched wide. The berry was too big for him to swallow. He looked at me, like he wasn’t sure what to do.
    â€˜That’s too big for you, silly,’ I said. ‘Here. You have to peck at it. Like this.’ I crouched down and, with my finger, made tapping motions on the ground.
    Both chicks raced to my side and started pecking at the ground next to me. Leaves were flung left and right. When they found nothing, they looked up at me expectantly.
    â€˜But I haven’t got anything,’ I said, splaying my empty hands.
    I stood up and looked across the swamp. Where were their parents?
    Thinking of parents, the light was growing dim. Dad would be back from the shed any minute to cook dinner. I’d better get back.
    â€˜See you, chicks. Maybe tomorrow?’
    I turned to walk away, and the chicks skidded off into the swamp. The sound of their splashes and peeps echoed back to the veranda.
    I hoped Dad hadn’t discovered that I was missing. I was relieved when I found him working on a chainsaw in the shed. He looked up when I walked in and then bent to give the chord a tug. Nothing happened. He straightened and scratched the stubbly black hair dotting his chin.
    â€˜Maybe it’s out of petrol?’ I suggested.
    â€˜Thanks,