“Ah, it must, Mas’ Don; but we won’t try it to-day; and now, as we’ve been on the tramp a good two hours, I vote we sit down and have a bit of a peck.”
Don agreed, and they sat down at the edge of the wood to partake of the rather scanty fare which they spread on the ground between them.
“Yes, it would be fine,” said Jem, with his mouth and hands full. “We ought to go up that mountain some day. I’ve never been up a mountain. Hi! Wos!”
This was shouted at another of the peculiar-looking little birds which ran swiftly out of the undergrowth, gave each in turn a comical look, and then seized a good-sized piece of their provender and ran off.
“Well, I call that sarce,” said Jem; “that’s what I calls that. Ah, if I’d had a stone I’d soon have made him drop that.”
“Now,” said Don laughing, “do you call that an ostrich?”
“To be sure I do!” cried Jem. “That proves it. I’ve read in a book as ostriches do steal and swallow anything—nails, pocket-knives, and bits o’ stone. Well! I never did!”
Jem snatched off his cap and sent it spinning after another rail which had run up and seized a fruit from their basket, and skimmed off with its legs forming a misty appearance like the spokes of a rapidly turning wheel.
“Sarce is nothing to it, Mas’ Don. Why, that little beggar’s ten times worse than the old magpie we used to have in the yard. They’re so quick, too. Now, just look at that.”
Either the same or another of the little birds came out of the undergrowth, peering about in the most eccentric manner, and without displaying the least alarm.