"Tell me about yourself," he said gently. "This is your home, eh?"
"Yes," she agreed. She told him how her father had brought her up here, how he had taught her from the books which he had brought with them.
Queer that there on this moon of Saturn, the wandering, embittered Carter Livingston had found no humans, but an animal, bird and insect life. Yet it was no coincidence, for Livingston had journeyed until he found what he wanted. Himself an educated human, he would give the animals the advantages he had had through the centuries of human advancement. Breed God's creatures upward, some day perhaps to reach the intelligence of man.
Morgan stared at the girl as she so earnestly described it. Rot, of course. And yet that flying, flamingo-like thing had certainly talked, and talked much more intelligently than any parrot. It had called for help, and the red-haired ape things had come on the run. Morgan grimaced with the memory. One of those round-headed goths had throttled him with its ape-like hands, while another of them cracked him on the head with a rock. He gazed around the room uneasily now, but none of them was in sight.
"Can those goths talk, too?" he demanded.
"Yes. A little, but it's hard to understand. A growling mumble. But they're very intelligent. You see, their life-span is nearly ten years, so we only have a few generations that father taught. He said that with use, the vocal cords and the larynx were getting more adapted. Tamo is my best one. And he makes the others understand. They're very gentle."
"With you," Morgan supplemented wryly.
"Yes. Cah called them for help."
"Cah? You mean that big bird?"
"Yes. Father bred six generations of his family. And nature made his talking apparatus very adequate for human words."