“What’s the matter, Nat?” said my uncle; and then, “Look! Who’d have thought of seeing humming-birds so near the sea?”
I did not reply, for I did not know which part of my uncle’s remark to answer first; so I stared at the lovely little birds flitting about some flowers.
“Steamer’s getting a good way along,” said my uncle, after a few minutes’ silence. “Here, I must have two or three of those little beauties.”
“They’re not quetzals, uncle,” I said, smiling.
“No; but I’m not going to miss getting rare specimens, Nat. We may not find the quetzals, and we must not go back empty-handed. Is the anchor quite fast?”
“Yes, uncle, perfectly,” I said.
“Then let’s get what good birds we can while we’re waiting. The sound of our guns may bring those fellows back.”
He was right, for about mid-day, when we were busily preparing some skins of the lovely little humming-birds we had shot, I caught up the gun by my side, for their was a peculiar piping cry.
“What bird’s that?” I said, in a sharp whisper.
“Pee-wew!” came softly.