a green tunic perhaps, cross-legged on some high, swaying bough,
carelessly touching his mandolin, suspended from his neck by a
yellow ribbon.

By and by a bird came with low, swift flight, its great tail
spread open fan-wise, and perched itself on an exposed bough not
thirty yards from us. It was all of a chestnut-red colour,
long-bodied, in size like a big pigeon. Its actions showed that
its curiosity had been greatly excited, for it jerked from side
to side, eyeing us first with one eye, then the other, while its
long tail rose and fell in a measured way.

"Look, Kua-ko," I said in a whisper, "there is a bird for you to
kill."

But he only shook his head, still watchful.

"Give me the blow-pipe, then," I said, with a laugh, putting out
my hand to take it. But he refused to let me take it, knowing
that it would only be an arrow wasted if I attempted to shoot
anything.

As I persisted in telling him to kill the bird, he at last bent
his lips near me and said in a half-whisper, as if fearful of
being overheard: "I can kill nothing here. If I shot at the
bird, the daughter of the Didi would catch the dart in her hand
and throw it back and hit me here," touching his breast just over
his heart.

I laughed again, saying to myself, with some amusement, that