“No, thanks, father.”
“Then go and feed the dogs. We start in a quarter of an hour. One moment. Do you feel very stiff?”
“Stiff?—well, yes, a little, father.”
“Not very bad, then. How do you feel about a trot to-day?”
“I’ll—I’ll try, father. Look—look!”
The boy jumped up in his excitement, for there was a whirring of wings, a burst of screaming, and a flock of birds flew over their heads, with the plumage looking in the morning light as white as snow.
“Cockatoos?” cried Nic wildly.
“Yes,” said his father, smiling at the boy’s enthusiasm over what was one of the commonest sights to him. “I have seen them before. Now then, breakfast for our prisoners. I shall be glad when we can let those dogs run free.”