"Mine is a true tale," declared Adjutant, with great dignity. "One morning, looking calmly over the great city to see that all had been tidied up, I saw my little black friend, whose voice is like unto the squeak of a Bullock-cart, crouched in an open window, with wings well spread ready for flight.
"'A new piece of thieving,' thought I, and, drawing closer, I saw Kauwa hop to the floor, pass over to a bed on which slept a Sahib, and gently take a slice of toast from the top of a cup; then away went the thief.
"But the full wickedness was later, for when the Sahib awoke he spoke to his servant in the manner which Cockatoo has related of the ship. And when the other, who was of the Black Kind, declared he had put the toast beside his Master, the Sahib beat him for a liar. Even three mornings did Kauwa take the toast; but on the fourth the Sahib, who was pretending to sleep, nearly broke his back with the cast of a boot."
"Jungle Dwellers are Jungle Dwellers, and City Dwellers are City Dwellers," commenced Hornbill, gravely, "and I'm so glad I'm a Jungle Dweller. These tales show what city life is like. Save for an occasional row with Magh's friends, Hanuman and the rest, whose stomachs are out of all proportion to the quantity of fruit to be had, I have led a very peaceful life in the Jungle."
"LEAVING JUST A PLACE FOR HER SHARP BEAK."
"Tell me," queried Magh, maliciously, "do your Young roost on your nose?"
"No; that is to keep inquisitive folks at a distance. And, talking of Young, when my wife has laid her two big eggs in a hole in some tree, I shut her up there with the eggs—make her stay home to mind the house and the oncoming family. I plaster up the hole with mud, leaving just a place for her sharp beak; this to keep the Monkeys from stealing her and the eggs."