birds were now so accustomed to Martin and his harmless noises that
they took very little notice of him. He knelt on one knee and
pointed the gun at them.

[Illustration: ]

"Now, birdies, you don't know what a fright I'm going to give
you--off you go!" he cried, and pulled the trigger.

The roar of the loud report travelled all over the wide lake,
creating a great commotion among the feathered people, and they rose
up with a general scream into the air.

All this was of no benefit to Martin, the recoil of the gun having
sent him flying over, his heels in the air; and before he recovered
himself the echoes were silent, and all the frightened birds were
settling on the water again. But there, just before him, lay one of
the spoonbills, beating its great rose-coloured wings against the
ground.

Martin ran to it, full of keen distress, but was powerless to help;
its life's blood was fast running away from the shot wounds it had
received in its side, staining the grass with crimson. Presently it
closed its beautiful ruby-coloured eyes and the quivering wings grew
still.

Then Martin sat down on the grass by its side and began to cry, Oh,
that great bird, half as tall as himself, and so many times more
lovely and strong and beautiful in its life--he had killed it, and
it would never fly again! He raised it up very tenderly in his arms