“That’s what took my attention first of all,” said Drew, who had now joined them, and they all three gloated over the wonderful specimen which glowed with intense colours. There were no long loose flowing buff plume; for the bird was short and compact, its principal decoration being six oval feathers at the end of as many thin wire-like pens, three growing crest-like out of each side of its head. The whole of its throat and breast were covered with broad scale-like feathers of brilliant metallic golden hue, looking in the sunshine like the dazzling throat of a humming bird vastly magnified; while, seen in different lights, these golden scales changed in hue like the plumes of a peacock, becoming purple or green. A pure satiny white patch glistened conspicuously on the front of the head, before the place whence the six cresting feathers sprang. This covering stood out the more strongly from the fact that at first sight the bird appeared to be of a dense black, but at the slightest movement it glowed with bronze metallic blue, and an indescribable tint, such as is sometimes seen in freshly-broken sulphur and iron ore.
For some moments no one spoke, and with tender touches Oliver turned his bird here and there, so that the sun should play upon its glistening plumage at different angles. Now he was carefully raising some feather which was slightly out of place, now raising the six crest feathers through his hand, and bending over it as if it were the most glorious object he had ever seen.
“Seems a sin to attempt to skin it,” said Oliver at last. “I shall never get those feathers to look so smooth again.”
“Oh, yes, you will. Go on,” said Panton, “and get it done. The weather soon makes a change.”
“Yes, I must carefully preserve this,” cried Oliver; and Drew sighed.
“I’ve worked pretty hard,” he said, “but I have found nothing to compare with that in rarity or beauty.”
“Then you think it’ll do, sir?” said Smith, with his face shining with pleasure.
“Do, my man! I can never be grateful enough to you both for finding it.”
“Worth long rigmarole, eh, sir?” said Wriggs with a chuckle.
“It’s worth anything to a naturalist, my man.”