"Some Birds do have vile habits," declared Crow. "Paddy Bird has a Brother in Burma who gets drunk on the Men's toddy."
"I doubt if that be true," said Sa'-zada, "though he is really called 'Bacchus' in the science books."
Said Myna, "Of all Birds, I think the Jungle Fowl are the worst. The Cocks do nothing but fight, fight, all the time—fight, and then get up in a tree and crow about it, as though it were to their credit."
Said Kauwa the Crow, "When one of our family becomes quarrelsome, or a great nuisance, we hold a meeting—I have seen even a thousand Crows at such meetings—hear all there is to say about him, and then if it appears that he is utterly bad we beat him to death."
"Tub-full-of-bread!" exclaimed Hathi, sleepily, "it's my opinion that all Birds should be on their roosts—it's very late."
"And roost high, too," said Magh, "for Coyote and Gidar have been licking their chops for the last hour. I've watched them. And lock Python up, O Sa'-zada, for high roosts won't save them from him."
"All to bed, all to bed!" cried the Keeper. "To-morrow night we'll have some more tales."
The last cry heard on the sleepy night air after all were safely in their cages was Cockatoo's "Avast there, you lubber!" as Myna, sticking his saucy yellow beak through the bars of his cage, called across to him, "Want a glass of grog, Polly?"