“Don’t see anything, only the sun coming through like silver rain.”
“To the right of that, sir, where the leaves are thickest. Now can you see?”
“I can see where the leaves are thickest, that’s all. What am I to look at?”
“The paroquets.”
“What?” cried Nic excitedly, as he gave himself an aching sensation in the back of the neck from the awkward position he assumed: “I can’t see anything.”
“Look again, sir. They are hard to see. I can count six together, and one which seems to be a handsome cock bird, quite by itself.”
“That’s the one I want,” said Nic in a whisper, as he cocked his gun and stood peering up in the part indicated, but only to have his eyes dazzled by the rays which shot down from above.
“You see it now, sir?” said Leather quietly.
“Nor; nothing but leaves and twigs—nothing else. Are you sure you can see the birds?”
“Yes, sir, quite. My eyes are more used to this sort of thing than yours. I have been so much alone in the bush, often with no companions but the sheep or the blacks.”