she could,--

"I was only trying to find out what those people are laughing at
out there. It seems such a strange time to be so amused. I suppose
they must be some of the coolies going to work."

"People!" repeated Nesta blankly.

"Yes--listen!" said Miss Chase; and as another burst of thick-toned
mirth reached them, "There--don't you hear that?"

Nesta rolled down into her pillow, and fairly shouted into it.

"What is the matter with the child?" asked Miss Chase in
bewilderment.

"People!" gasped Nesta, as soon as she had any voice to speak with.
"Those aren't people; they're birds!"

"Birds!" said Miss Chase. "Impossible. You must be asleep still, or
you didn't hear what I said."

"Yes, I did," Nesta replied. "You mean those funny fat chuckles and
ha-ha's? Well, those are birds--the laughing jackasses. I can show
them to you in a minute."

Out they both went on to the veranda, and in the fast-increasing
light Nesta pointed out some trees below, on which sat groups of
brightly-hued birds, not unlike kingfishers in appearance, but very
much larger. They had without doubt the funniest faces Miss Chase
had ever seen. Not only did they laugh aloud--they positively
grinned, so comic was the expression of their wide beaks. She
laughed herself till the tears ran down her cheeks, and Nesta put
her head down on the veranda railing and wept with laughter too.

The sun was up now, there being practically no twilight either
before sunrise or after sunset in North Queensland. The glory of
the scene sobered Miss Chase, and she stood watching.

The glee of the birds was explained. They sat and laughed as they
watched for their prey, then pounced down upon the unwary locusts
or lizards they had marked, and returning to the tree, sat
chuckling triumphantly over the capture before eating.

"It is really rather horrid of them, isn't it?" said Miss Chase.

But Nesta did not sympathize.

"Nobody minds," she said, "especially about locusts being
eaten--nasty things. When there is a plague of them it means ruin
to father; they destroy every blade of sugar-cane."

Over the tree-tops in the valley below appeared a cloud of
shimmering whiteness, moving swiftly round the base of the hill.

"What is that?" asked Miss Chase curiously.

"White cockatoos," said Nesta, with a yawn; "they're changing their
feeding-ground--white cockatoos with bright yellow crests. But, I
say, don't you think you had better go back to bed? You're