In a corner of his yard, round and round, with inconceivable rapidity and an astounding innocence, as if he imagined himself alone and unobserved, the Emu danced like a bird demented. On tiptoe, absurdly elongated, round and round, ecstatically, deliriously, he danced. He danced till his legs and his neck were as one high perpendicular pole and his body a mere whorl of feathers spinning round it, driven by the flapping of his wings. "He _is_ making an almighty fool of himself," said Ranny. "What does he do it for, Daddy?" "Let's ask the keeper." And they asked him. "'E's a Emu, that's what 'e is," said the keeper. "That's what he does when he goes courtin'. Only there won't be no courtin' for him this time. 'Is mate died yesterday." "And yet he dances," Winny said. "And yet he dances. Heartless bird!" said Ranny. They looked at the Emu, who went on dancing as if unobserved. "Scandalous, I call it," Ranny said. "Unfeelin'." "Perhaps," said Winny, "the poor thing doesn't know." "Per'aps he does know, and that's why he's dancin'." Winny gazed, fascinated, at the uplifted and ecstatic head. "_I_ know," she said. "It's his grief. It's affected his brain." "It's Nacher," said the keeper, "that's what it is. Nacher's wound 'im up to go, and he goes, you see, whether or no. It's the instint in 'im and the time of year. 'E don't know no more than that." "But that," said Winny, "makes it all the sadder." She was sorry for the Emu, so bereaved and so deluded, dancing his fruitless, lamentable dance. "He _is_ funny, isn't he?" said Stanny. And they went slowly, spinning out their pleasure, back to that part of the lawn where there were innumerable little tables covered with pink cloths, set out under the trees, and seated at the tables innumerable family parties, innumerable pairs of lovers, pairs of married people, pairs of working women and of working girls on holiday; all happy for their hour, all whispering, laughing, chattering, and drinking tea. On the terrace in front of the big red house were other tables with white covers under awnings like huge sunshades, where people who could afford the terrace sat in splendor and in isolation and listened to the music, played on the veranda, of violins and cello and piano. Ransome and Winny and the children chose a pink-covered table on the lawn under a holly tree in a place all by themselves. And they had tea there, such a tea as stands out forever in memory, beautiful and solitary. What the children didn't have for tea, Ranny said, was not worth mentioning. And after tea they sat in luxurious folding-chairs under the terrace and listened to the violins, the cello, and piano. Other people were doing the same thing as if they had been invited to do it, as if they were all one party, with somewhere a friendly host and hostess imploring them to be seated, to be happy and to make themselves at home.