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The Hair Tree

that grows on a little island not far from here.” On hearing this the bird gave a low cry, and crouched down on one side of the boat, where it sat eyeing Rupert and the nuts greedily, and shaking with rage. “Then they are the nuts of the zirbal-tree,” he said at last; “and the pod has broken when I was not there. For two thousand years have I waited for that pod to break, and now it will be two thousand years before it is ripe again, and it is the only zirbal-tree living, and there is nothing on earth like its nuts.”

When Rupert saw the bird crouched in one corner of the seat, with its head lowered and its feathers ruffled, and remembered how much mischief it had done, he felt strongly inclined to seize it and wring its neck, but he restrained himself, and said,—

“You had better sit up. I’ve got the nuts, and I mean to keep them; but perhaps, if you’ll answer me one or two questions, I’ll give you one.”

On this the bird drew itself up, and, arranging its ruffled plumage, sat watching Rupert suspiciously.

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