Part 7 (2/2)

”I say, don't be so jolly particular, Joe,” cried d.y.k.e, laughing.

”Why not? It's just what you and I ought to be,” said the big fellow with simple earnestness. ”We're out here in a savage land, but we don't want to grow into savages, nor yet to be as blunt and gruff as two bears. I'm not going to forget that the dear old governor at home is a gentleman, even if his sons do rough it out here.”

”Till they're regular ruffians, Joe.--I say: see the nest?”

”Oh no; it's a mile away yet.”

”Then there isn't one. You couldn't have seen it at all that distance.”

”I never said I could see the nest, did I? It was enough for me that I've seen the birds about, and that I caught sight of that one making off this morning. We call them stupid, and they are in some things; but they're precious cunning in others.”

”But if they were only feeding?”

”Why, then, there's no nest. But I say breeding, and not feeding; and that's rhyme if you take it in time, as the old woman said.”

”But you talked about hen birds. Then there may be more than one nest?”

”Not here. Why, you know how a lot of them lay in the same nest.”

”At home, shut up in pens, but not on the veldt.”

”Why, of course they do, and 'tis their nature to, like the bears and lions in Dr Watts. You don't know everything quite yet, old chap. If you took the gla.s.s, and came and lay out here for two or three days and nights, and always supposing the birds didn't see you--because if they did they'd be deserting the nest and go somewhere else--you'd see first one hen come to lay and then another, perhaps six of them; and when they'd packed the nest as full as it would hold, with the sand banked up round the eggs to keep them tight in their places with the points downwards, so as to be close, you'd see hen after hen come and take her turn, sitting all day, while the c.o.c.k bird comes at nights and takes his turn, because he's bigger and stronger, and better able to pitch into the prowling jackals.”

”How did you know all this, Joe?”

”Partly observation, partly from what I've heard Jack say,” replied Emson modestly. ”Everything comes in useful. I daresay you won't repent saving up all those odds and ends of stones and sh.e.l.ls and eggs you've got at home.”

”Why, I often thought you'd feel they were a nuisance, Joe. I did see you laugh at them more than once.”

”Smile, old man, smile--that's all. I like it. You might grow a regular museum out of small beginnings like that.”

”Then we ought to have stuffed the goblin,” cried d.y.k.e merrily.

”Oh, come, no; that wouldn't do. Our tin house isn't the British Museum; but I would go on collecting bits of ore and things. You may find something worth having one of these days, besides picking up a lot of knowledge. I'd put that piece of old iron the ostrich swallowed along with the rest.”

”Would you?”

”Yes; but now let's have all eyes, and no tongues, old chap. We are getting near where that bird got up off the nest.”

”If there was one.”

”If there was one,” a.s.sented Emson. ”Now then: think you're mushrooming out in the old field at home, and see if you can't find the nest. Move off now a couple of hundred yards, and keep your eyes open.”

d.y.k.e followed out his brother's advice, and for the next hour they rode over the ground here and there, to and fro, and across and across, scanning the sandy depressions, till Emson suddenly drew rein, and shouted to d.y.k.e, who was a quarter of a mile away.

d.y.k.e sent his cob off at a gallop and joined him.

”Found it?” he cried excitedly.

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