“Now I must introduce my curassow turkey,” she said, calling another very handsome bird, almost as large as an ordinary turkey. It was of a dark-violet colour, with a purplish-green gloss on the back and breast. The lower part was of the purest white, while the crest was of a bright golden-yellow, greatly increasing the beauty of the bird. John called it the crested curassow—the crax alector.
“See,” she said, “I have greatly increased the number of my feathered friends. Look at this beautiful marianna.”
It was a small parrot, with a black head, a white breast, and orange neck and thighs—a most lovely little creature. As soon as she called it, it came down from its perch and sprang upon her wrist. When she again let it go, off it went, poking its head into the various articles on the verandah, examining a basket of fruits which Oria had just brought in, and the pots of which Domingos had charge; now pecking at one thing, now another. Our Indian friend had brought her another parrot called an anaca. This was also a beautiful bird, its breast and belly banded with blue and red, while the back of the neck and head were covered with long bright-red feathers margined with blue. True approaching it, up went the crest, looking remarkably handsome. From this crest it obtains the name of the hawk-head parrot. It came when called, but quickly retired in rather a solemn fashion to its perch.
“Do you know,” said Ellen, “Oria has brought me that beautiful little duck you described. I would rather take that home with me than all the other pets, and yet I should be sorry to lose any of them.”
“I tell Ellen that her menagerie is a mere bait to jaguars or boas, or other prowling animals of the forest,” observed John. “What a nice breakfast one of them would make if it found its way into our settlement!”
“You shall not frighten me with any such ideas,” she answered; “and I hope before we leave the country that I may add many more to my collection. But I have not shown you my humming-bird yet,” she said. “I keep it in a cage in the house for fear the others should get at it; but it takes a flight by itself every day, and comes back again when it wants a sip of sirrup, or wishes to go to roost. I must show you some nests of the beautiful little birds which have built not far off. Would you like to go and see them at once?”
Knowing it would please her, while Domingos and Maria were preparing our evening meal, I accompanied her to a little distance, where, hanging to some long, pendant leaves, she pointed out two little purse-shaped nests, composed, apparently, of some cottony material bound together with spider-web. A graceful little bird was sitting in each of them, with tails having long, pointed feathers. The upper part of their bodies were of a green bronze, except the tail-coverts, which were of a somewhat rusty red; while the tails themselves were of a bronzed tint, broadly tipped with white. I knew them by the shape of their bills and their nests to belong to the genus Phaëthornis.
“They are quite accustomed to me now,” she said, “and will not fly away even when I go near them.”
While we were looking, the mate of one of the birds came up and perched close above the nest. As we were going away I saw two others pass by us, of the same size, it seemed to me. Another settled on a flower near at hand, when the idea seized me that I could catch it. I struck it with my hat, and down it fell. Ellen uttered a cry of sorrow; but stooping down, what was my surprise to find, instead of a humming-bird, a moth so exactly in shape and appearance like the humming-birds, that it was no wonder I had been deceived.
“You would not have killed a humming-bird so easily,” said Ellen; “but I am sorry for the poor moth.”