“Perhaps so,” said Dick lazily. “No, it isn’t. I know what it is,” he cried excitedly, forgetting the heat and his idle languor.
“Well, what is it?” said Jack. “I know. It’s a bird.”
“It’s the honey-guide,” cried Dick, watching the twittering little thing as it flew to him and then back, trying hard to draw their attention, and to get them to follow it.
“I don’t believe it would take us to any honey if we went after it.”
“Well, let’s try,” said Dick. “Where’s father?”
“Oh, right over there: a mile away. You can just see him.”
“Well, we’ll follow the bird,” cried Dick. “I should like some honey. It would be quite a treat.”
“Come along, then,” said Jack. “I’ll do anything if it isn’t too much trouble. Come along. What’s old Pomp found?”
They turned their horses, and were about to ride after the honey-guide, when Pompey suddenly began baying furiously at a clump of very high ferns and bushes, and Caesar went and joined him.
“Get your gun ready, Jack,” said Dick excitedly. “It’s a lion.”