While these interesting birds were cooking, Ned prepared the fruit of the bread-tree. Then the wood-pigeons were devoured to the bones, and declared excellent. The nutmeg, with which they are in the habit of stuffing their crops, flavours their flesh and renders it delicious eating. “Now, Ned, what do you miss now?” “Some four-footed game, M. Aronnax. All these pigeons are only side-dishes and trifles; and until I have killed an animal with cutlets I shall not be content.” “Nor I, Ned, if I do not catch a bird of paradise.” “Let us continue hunting,” replied Conseil. “Let us go towards the sea. We have arrived at the first declivities of the mountains, and I think we had better regain the region of forests.” That was sensible advice, and was followed out. After walking for one hour we had attained a forest of sago-trees. Some inoffensive serpents glided away from us. The birds of paradise fled at our approach, and truly I despaired of getting near one when Conseil, who was walking in front, suddenly bent down, uttered a triumphal cry, and came back to me bringing a magnificent specimen. “Ah! bravo, Conseil!” “Master is very good.” “No, my boy; you have made an excellent stroke. Take one of these living birds, and carry it in your hand.” “If master will examine it, he will see that I have not deserved great merit.” “Why, Conseil?” “Because this bird is as drunk as a quail.” “Drunk!”