y," he said, laughing, as
he removed the birds' crops on to a great leaf which I held for him.
"We'll examine those after dinner, Nat, so as to see on what the birds
feed. If I'm not mistaken they eat the large fruit of the nutmeg for
one thing."

"Then they ought to taste of spice, uncle," I said, laughing.

"Wait a bit, Nat, and you'll see how good these fruit-pigeons are. Now,
cut with that great jack-knife of yours a good sharp pair of bamboo
skewers, or spits, and we'll soon have the rascals roasting. We can't
eat the insects, but we can the birds, and a great treat they will be
after so much shipboard food."

"That they will be, uncle," I said, as the pigeons, each quite double or
three times the size of one of our home birds, were stuck before the
fire, and began to send out a nice appetising smell.

"Then you won't be too prejudiced to eat them?" he said, laughing.

"Oh, uncle!" I said, "I'm so hungry I could eat anything now."

"Well done, Nat. Well, my boy, as long as we get plenty of specimens to
skin we sha'n't starve. Turn that skewer round. That's right; stick it
tightly into the sand, and now let's have on a little more wood. Pick
up those old cocoa-nut shells and husks, and put on, Nat."

"Will they burn well?" I said. "I was afraid of putting out the fire."

"Splendidly, my boy. The shells are full of oil, and will send out a
capital heat."

We were obliged to nibble a biscuit while we waited, and anxiously
watched the frizzling and browning birds, for we were terribly hungry.

"I hope they won't be long, uncle," I said.

"So do I, Nat," he replied; "but what a splendid dining-room we have got
out here! Isn't it lovely, my boy, under this blue sky and shading
trees?"

"Hundreds of times better than going to a picnic at Bushey Park, uncle,"
I said. "But you talked of eating the birds we shot. Thrushes would be
good, wouldn't they?"

"Delicious, Nat, only so very small."

"But you wouldn't eat parrots, uncle, lories, and paroquets, and these
sort of birds?"

"Why not?" he replied, turning his skewer, while I imitated him, it
seeming to be settled that we were each to have a couple of pigeons for
our dinner.

"I don't know why not, uncle," I said thoughtfully, "only it seems so
queer to eat a Poll parrot;" and as I spoke I could not help thinking of
poor Humpty Dumpty, and all the trouble I had had. "It seems queer," I
said again.

"But why does it seem queer, Nat?" he