“This is one of the most singular facts in natural history that I have met with,” said Uncle Dick, who was still gazing curiously up at the tree and watching the female hornbill’s head as she kept shuffling herself about uneasily, and seemed to object to so much light.
“I think I know what it is, uncle,” I said, laughing.
“Do you, Nat,” he replied. “Well, you are cleverer than I am if you do know. Well, why is it?”
“The hen hornbill must be like Uncle Joe’s little bantam, who never would sit till she was shut up in the dark, and that’s why Mr Hornbill fastened up his wife.”
My uncle laughed, and then, to Ebo’s great delight, for he had been fidgeting about and wondering why it was that we stopped so long, we continued our journey in search of the birds of paradise, whose cries could be heard at a distance every now and then.
But though we kept on following the sounds we seemed to get no nearer, and to make matters worse, so as not to scare them uncle said it would be better not to fire, with the consequence that we missed shooting some very beautiful birds that flitted from tree to tree.
“We must give up the birds of paradise to-day, Nat,” said my uncle at last. “I see it is of no use to follow them; they are too shy.”
“Then how are we to get any?” I said in a disappointed tone; for we had been walking for some hours now and I was tired.
“Lie in wait for them, Nat,” he replied smiling. “But come, we’ll try and shoot a few birds for food now and have a good dinner. You will feel all the more ready then for a fresh walk.”
By means of a little pantomime we made Ebo understand what we wanted, and in a very little while he had taken us to where the great pigeons thronged the trees, many being below feeding on a kind of nut which had fallen in great profusion from a lofty kind of palm.