And it was at this exact moment that my eye was caught by an abnormal bird, a pigeon, which was wheeling in the air, and flew upwards with ever-narrowing and giddy circles.
“Just look at those roses on that long branch of briar; they are pretty and interesting,” said my uncle. “Left to grow wild, they have become dog-roses again.”
“What a curious pigeon!” I said.
“Just look at those flowers,” insisted Lerne.
“One would think there was a drop of lead in its head. That happens sometimes when one is out shooting. It will tower and tower, and then fall from as high as possible.”
“If you don’t watch your feet, you will fall head over heels into the thorn-bushes. It’s a breakneck place, this, nephew.”
This useful bit of counsel was growled out in a menacing tone that sounded strangely out of place.
Then the bird attained the center of its spiral and began not to mount, but to come down with wild tumblings, and whirling over and over. It hit a rock not far from us and fell, an inert thing, into the thick herbage.
Why did the Professor suddenly become more restless? Why did he hasten his steps? That is what I was asking myself, when the big pipe fell from his mouth. Having dashed forward to pick it up I could not restrain a look of stupefaction; he had snapped it off sharp with a furious bite.
The scene ended with a German word—doubtless an oath.