THE TROGON.
Our thirst increasing to a painful degree, we were about to retrace our steps, when I observed a little bird perch himself upon the edge of a leaf not far off, and commence drinking from the hollow. I told Abraham to look.
"Sure enough," said he, "birds don't drink whisky punch."
"No," said I, "God Almighty never made a bird or a four-legged beast yet that would naturally drink punch or any other kind of poison. It must be water, and good water too, for birds have more sense than men about what they drink. So here goes, whether you join or not."
"And here goes too!" cried Abraham; and we both, without hesitating any longer, emptied our bowls to the bottom; and so pure and delicious was the water that we emptied half a dozen leavesful more, and never felt a bit afraid that it would hurt us; for we knew then that God had made these cups of living green, and filled them with water fresh from the heavens for the good of His creatures.
CHAPTER XI.
THE VALLEY OF ENCHANTMENT.