“No,” he said, “I should as soon think of roasting a tom-cat at home and calling it hare. Rum thing it seems, though, that those creatures which live upon one another should be rank and nasty, while those which eat fruit and green-stuff should be good. Keep your guns ready, my lads. It’s very quiet here, and you may get a shot at something good for the supper to-night: some big pigeons, or a turkey, or— I’ll tell you, though; I can hear ’em rustling about in the trees now. They’ll be easy, too, for a shot.”
“What? Parrots?”
“Nay, better than them. A nice, plump young monkey or two.”
“What?” roared Rob.
“A nice young monkey or two; and don’t shout, my lad. If you make that noise, we shan’t be able to hear anything coming.”
“Bah!” cried Joe. “I should feel like a cannibal if I even thought of it. I say, look at Mr Brazier!”
Rob turned and smiled as he saw his leader eagerly making up for lost time, and, after climbing about twenty feet up a tree with a hatchet in his belt, holding on with one hand while he cut off a great bunch of flowers hanging from the bough upon which, like so much large mistletoe, it had taken root.
Shaddy saw him almost at the same moment, and turned to the tree, followed by the lads.
“I say, sir, don’t do that!” he said, respectfully.
“Why not, my man? We are not trespassing, and damaging anybody’s property here.”