e always to be found by a kind of palm
that attracted the pigeons as well, these latter swallowing fruit that
looked as big as their heads.

Here, to our intense delight, we shot the paradise oriole, a magnificent
orange, yellow, and black bird, its head looking as if it was covered
with a lovely orange plush.

One day we had made a longer excursion than usual, and had been so
successful that we were about to turn back, having a long afternoon's
work before us to preserve our specimens. We had penetrated right to
the mountainous ridge, and finding the ground rise very rapidly we came
to a standstill, when a peculiar cry up amongst the tree-shadowed rocks
above us made us forget our fatigue, especially as Ebo was making signs.

The cry was so different to any that we had before heard that we felt
that it must be some new bird, and full of eagerness set to work to
stalk it.

All at once what seemed a flash of dark blue darted from a tree, and
before gun could reach shoulder it was gone.

But Ebo had been on the watch, and away he crept amongst the rocks and
trees, following what we now took to be a prize, till we saw him a
quarter of a mile away holding up his spear as a signal.

We followed cautiously, and with a look of intelligence in his eyes he
signed to my uncle to go one way towards a clump of tall palms, and to
me to go in the other direction.

"Fire upwards," whispered my uncle, and we parted.

I knew from Ebo's ways that the bird must be in one of these trees, and
with my eyes sweeping the great leaves in all directions I tried to make
out the bird, but in vain, and I had advanced so near that I gave up all
hope of seeing it, when suddenly from the other side there was a shot,
then another, and feeling satisfied that my uncle had secured the prize
I was completely taken off my guard, and stared with astonishment as a
large bird, with tail quite a couple of feet long, swept by me towards
the dense undergrowth of the lower ground, where it would have been in
vain to hunt for it.

Just, however, as the bird was darting between the trees I raised my gun
and made a quick snapshot at quite sixty yards' distance, and then
called myself a stupid for not being more ready and for wasting a charge
of powder and shot.

My uncle hailed me now.

"Any luck, Nat?" he cried, as he came up.

"No, uncle," I replied. "I made a flying shot, but it was too far-off."

"So were mine, Nat, but I fired on the chance of