“Quite true,” replied Uncle Elk, “though there are many equally inexplicable. I have sometimes fancied that birds resemble men in their longing for travel. With means of locomotion at their command still far beyond the skill of our best aviators, what wonder that our little brothers of the air are impelled to gather the best that can be secured?
“This, however, is a fanciful theory which the naturalists will not accept. It must be remembered that the majority of golden plovers who start on this long journey never complete it, for almost every mile is attended with danger. They are dazzled by the vivid electric lights of the cities, and confused by the tall buildings, telephone and telegraph wires, especially on dark nights when the birds fly low. Thousands are thus killed, besides which adverse gales blow many out to sea, and blizzards and snowstorms destroy myriads.
“Perhaps we have talked enough about birds,” said Uncle Elk, “but I shall be glad to answer any questions that may occur to you.”
After a moment’s silence, Mike Murphy rose to his feet. His face, as usual, was serious even when about to indulge in some of his waggeries, but this time he was in earnest.
“Maybe it’s mesilf that knows mighty little about birds excipt them as is met with in Ireland, which isn’t many. There is one that I once heerd of that belongs to anither counthry.”
“Describe it, Michael,” remarked the old man indulgently.
“It has the bill of a duck, webbed feet, lays eggs, has a furry body and I belave is what is called a mammal. It’s a mighty qu’ar bird that I’d like to know the name of.”
In answer to the general smiles Uncle Elk asked:
“Have you ever seen one of the creatures, Michael?”
“Not that I know of, though I have often made search for ’em.”