“Oh, but I meant parrots and cockatoos and birds of paradise,” said the lad hurriedly.
“Parrots and cockatoos live on fruit,” said the doctor; “fruit is good, ergo parrots and cockatoos are good, and I’ll have a curry made of the first I skin.”
“You are right about the birds of paradise though, my boy,” said Sir John. “I should not like to try one of those, because they are so nearly related to the crow.”
“A bird of paradise related to a crow—a black crow?”
“Oh yes, you’ll find some of the most gaily painted birds out here in the tropics very nearly related to some of our more common friends at home.”
“Yes; look, there goes one, Jack. I could bring him down easily.”
The lad had already caught sight of a lovely bird upon the ground, which stood looking at them for a few moments before hopping away beneath the bushes and undergrowth, appearing again farther on, and then spreading its wings for a short flight, and displaying the lovely colours with which it was dyed, the most prominent being shades of blue relieved by delicate fawn and pale warm drab.
“What’s that?” cried Jack eagerly.
“That’s a thrush,” said the doctor.
“A thrush!”