As she started to return to her brother, Phyllis passed along the foot of a high bank. She was singing softly to herself when she heard the rattling cry of the kingfisher quite near.
He gracefully swung into sight on wide-spread wings. He bore another fish in his strong bill.
When he saw Phyllis he stopped short and held himself perfectly still in the air while he looked at her.
At length, deciding that she was harmless, he circled past the little girl and entered a small hole on the face of the bank.
"Why!" said Phyllis. "I wonder why he has gone in there. I shall wait for him to return."
So Phyllis waited until the bird came out. Then she held out her basket of berries.
"Will you have some of my berries?" she said. "I'm sure that your throat must be sore from the scratching of those fish-scales. You had to try so many times before you got it down. Tell me, did this last fish also stick in your throat?"
The kingfisher "chuckled" deep down in his throat.
"I do not eat berries," he said. "I usually eat fish. I sometimes eat large insects or shrimps, but I love to fish."
"So does my brother," said Phyllis, politely, glancing at Jack sitting motionless on a rock in the sunshine.