“They did not answer you!” said Cis, “do they never speak?”
“Not often to us,” replied the bird, “they are too proud of their old family to talk to ordinary dwellers in the forest; those two must have come a long way to visit us to-night, for, some years ago, the Tuataras said they did not like the fast ways of the inhabitants of this part of the country, and they all retired to an island off the coast, where their only companions are the mutton-birds who live in holes in the ground;—and, I think, it is so mean of the lizards, they share the mutton-birds’ holes, and then often feed upon their young ones.”
“Do not the Tuataras[8] get any food themselves?” asked Cis.
“Yes, at night,” replied the robin, “they only go out then; I think there must be something wrong when people always do things in the dark, do not you?”
“I do not know,” said Cis, “perhaps they have reasons we do not understand.”
“My mother was told by a learned man that the Tuataras have three eyes,” continued the bird.
“If so, they can see more than other people, and that is why they look so wise,” said little Cis.
“Perhaps so,” replied the bird, “but none of us have ever seen the third eye, and it is funny where it can be.”
“If you looked carefully you would find it on the top of our heads,” said the mellow voice of a Tuatara who had evidently been listening; “our ancestors were great star-gazers, but we have given up that sort of nonsense, we find it quite enough to attend to things on the earth, so we all agreed to shut one eye; it is best to do so sometimes,” added the lizard musingly.