d of which he had read and
never seen. It was the king bird of Paradise, monarch for its beauty
and not from its size.

Drew and Panton were out with him collecting, the one plants, the other
crystals, and running to him on hearing him whistling, they were ready
to laugh at his excitement over his one bird, a little fellow somewhere
about the size of a thrush, but with an exceedingly short tail balanced
by a couple of beautiful curled plumes at the end of their wire-like,
exquisitely curved feather, starting above the tail and crossing just at
its end.

But their ridicule soon turned into delight as they gazed at the
wondrous display of tints, beautifully blended, so that no two colours
jarred. But it was not only in its hues that there was so much
fascination to the eye, for all three gazed in wonder at the peculiar
appendages which added to the strangeness and beauty of this bird.

But there was no end to Oliver's bird treasures now, and knowing the
interest he took in the beautiful creatures, every man on board tried
his best to add to his stores by means of trap and gun, the mate
encouraging the use of the latter, so that the men might be quite at
home with it.

"Here y'are, sir," said Smith, "right sort, and nothing wrong in it,
'cept a spot o' blood on its back, over two o' the feathers. I was
going to pull 'em out and bring him quite clean, on'y you're so
perticler about every feather being there."

"How could it be perfect without?" said Oliver.

"Oh, I dunno, sir. Birds got so many feathers in 'em that nobody'd miss
fifty or sixty, let alone one or two. Why, many's the time I've seen
'em pick out lots themselves, specially ducks."

"I daresay," replied Oliver, "but don't you ever pick any out; I can
always wash away the blood."

"All right, sir, but ain't yer going to look at it, and what Billy
Wriggs got, too?"

"I will directly," replied Oliver. "Wait till I've turned this skin."

"Oh, yes, sir, we'll wait," said the sailor, and he dropped the butt of
his gun to the earth, and stood holding a bird he had shot, while Oliver
was seated by an upturned cask, whose head formed a table just under the
brig's bows, where, with a large piece of canvas rigged to a stay, he
worked in shelter, skinning his specimens for hours in the early morning
and late evening.

"Looks gashly nasty, now, sir," said the man, after a few minutes'
watching, while Oliver carefully painted over the wet, soft,
newly-str