But one day Harry determined to give the king a treat. He took his rifle, and pointing to a great vulture that was slowly floating around the village, fired, and to his own surprise brought it down.
But the consternation among the natives was intense. It was a strange, superstitious dread, and if they could have turned pale with fear I feel sure they would have done so. Harry had made thunder and lightning, smoke and flame, and killed an evil bird. No wonder the king capsized on his back on the mat, and said “Lobo!” more than a dozen times!
But Harry explained everything to him, and his majesty was satisfied.
The day before Harry’s departure from the Lake of the Hundred Isles was devoted to feasting and dancing. The king even proposed killing one or two of his subjects in honour of the occasion.
Harry would not hear of this.
“Well,” the king said, “he would put them up at a distance, and his guest should bring them down, with his rifle.”
“No, no, no,” laughed Harry; “kill hens and we can eat them, but not human beings.”
It was such a drowsy island this that Harry never thought of turning out of bed till about eight o’clock.
When he got up next day, and went forth to breathe the balmy morning air, the sight that was presented to him made him open his eyes wide with astonishment. It was like a scene of enchantment.
The king’s hut, and every other hut, and even the palisade around this camp, was completely covered with flowers of the most gorgeous hues and sweetest perfume, while all the ground was deeply bedded with green leaves and boughs. Even the shields and spears of the amazons were decorated with flowers, and they wore garlands around their necks and heads. Near the king’s tent sat a few musicians, beating low on tom-toms, and singing a dreamy kind of a chant.