forgetting all about our dinner in the excitement of
the chase, and filling our boxes before we thought of leaving off.

Not only butterflies had been captured, but beetles of many kinds, most
of them clad in armour that seemed to have been burnished, so brilliant
were they in their green, purple, and violet when held up in the sun.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

WHY EBONY WOULD NOT SAY GOOD-BYE.

It was with feelings full of regret that we said good-bye to our black
friend at the end of a month; for by that time the want of fresh
specimens made my uncle say that it was time to be on the move. We
could have gone on shooting scarlet lories, nutmeg pigeons, and pittas
as long as we liked, but that would have been wanton work, and uncle
discovered that the neighbouring islands would, wherever we went, give
us fresh supplies and present to us birds and insects such as we had
never seen before, so at last we prepared to start, and with some little
difficulty made Mr Ebony understand that we wanted a good supply of
sago, fruit, and fish for our voyage.

At first he could not understand that we were going right away, but as
soon as he did comprehend our signs the poor fellow looked miserable,
for he had regularly attached himself to us all the time of our stay,
and he was inconsolable at the idea of our going.

He helped us, however, to load our boat, and would have given us fish
enough for twenty people would we have taken it; and at last, just after
an early breakfast, we bade farewell to the beautiful island, and waving
an adieu to the people, of whom we had seen very little, we turned to
shake hands with our black friend, both my uncle and I having ready a
present for him; mine being a handy little hatchet, my uncle's a large
two-bladed knife.

To our surprise, though, as we stood down on the sands he refused to
shake hands with us, looking very serious and glum, and when we gave him
our presents, thinking that they would bring a smile to his face, he
took them quickly and threw them into the bottom of the boat.

"It is a pity," said my uncle, "for I do not like the idea of parting
bad friends, Nat, my boy. I'd give something if I could speak to the
poor fellow in his own language and tell him that we are not ungrateful
for all his kindness."

"I often wish we could speak in their own tongue, uncle," I said.

"Yes, Nat, but it is next to impossible, for there are fifty or sixty
different dialects spoken. There, o