road of the country, and the villages
are all on the rivers."

"But there must be people who keep fowls in there."

"Yes," said Frank, merrily; "Mother Nature does. Those are jungle cocks
crowing. I say, look out. Don't you want one of those?"

He pointed to where a lovely bluish bird, with a long tail ending in
oval disks like tiny tennis racquets, was seated some distance ahead
upon a bare branch; but almost as he spoke the bird took flight, and
went right on, up the river like a flash of blue light.

"Never mind; you'll have plenty more chances, and you'll soon know as
much about the place as I do."

The guns were brought out of their woollen bags and charged, and the
boat glided on, steered closer in to one bank now, so as to give the
naturalist a better chance of a shot; with the result that he brought
down in the course of the next two hours, as they followed the winding
course of the river, shut in on both sides by the tall flower-decked
trees, two brilliant racquet-tailed kingfishers, a pink-breasted dove,
and a tiny sunbird, decked in feathers that seemed to have been bronzed
and burnished with metallic tints of ruby, purple, and gold.

These were carefully picked up from the water in which they fell, laid
in the sun to dry their feathers, and then put aside for preparation
that evening. After this specimens were seen of gorgeously painted
butterflies, one being evidently seven or eight inches across, but
capture was out of the question, and Ned watched them longingly as they
flitted across the stream.

"I can take you where you can catch them," said Frank; "along by the
edge of the jungle where the rice-fields are; only the worst of
butterfly catching there is, that a tiger may fly out and butter you, as
they do the men sometimes who are at work over the rice."

"Not a pleasant way of butterfly hunting, I must say," said Murray, who,
gun in hand, was watching the edge of the jungle. "What's the matter?"

For the men had suddenly ceased rowing, and the naga glided slowly on,
diminishing in speed till it was stationary, and then, yielding to the
influence of the stream, began to glide back.

Meanwhile an excited conversation was going on between the principal
boatman and Frank Braine, the former pointing up into a huge tree whose
boughs overhung the river, their tips almost touching the surface, and
naturally both Murray and Ned gazed up too.

"What is it--a monkey or a bird?" said Ned, eagerly.