"Yes—listen!" said Miss Chase; and as another burst of thick-toned mirth reached them, "There—don't you hear that?"
Nesta rolled down into her pillow, and fairly shouted into it.
"What is the matter with the child?" asked Miss Chase in bewilderment.
"People!" gasped Nesta, as soon as she had any voice to speak with. "Those aren't people; they're birds!"
"Birds!" said Miss Chase. "Impossible. You must be asleep still, or you didn't hear what I said."
"Yes, I did," Nesta replied. "You mean those funny fat chuckles and ha-ha's? Well, those are birds—the laughing jackasses. I can show them to you in a minute."
Out they both went on to the veranda, and in the fast-increasing light Nesta pointed out some trees below, on which sat groups of brightly-hued birds, not unlike kingfishers in appearance, but very much larger. They had without doubt the funniest faces Miss Chase had ever seen. Not only did they laugh aloud—they positively grinned, so comic was the expression of their wide beaks. She laughed herself till the tears ran down her cheeks, and Nesta put her head down on the veranda railing and wept with laughter too.
The sun was up now, there being practically no twilight either before sunrise or after sunset in North Queensland. The glory of the scene sobered Miss Chase, and she stood watching.
The glee of the birds was explained. They sat and laughed as they watched for their prey, then pounced down upon the unwary locusts or lizards they had marked, and returning to the tree, sat chuckling triumphantly over the capture before eating.
"It is really rather horrid of them, isn't it?" said Miss Chase.