* * * * *
After a great meal we poured libations and made burnt-offerings in honour
of Kysh, who received our homage graciously, and, by the way, explained a
few things in the natural history line that had puzzled us. England is a
most marvellous country, but one is not, till one knows the eccentricities
of large land-owners, trained to accept kangaroos, zebras, or beavers as
part of its landscape.
When we went to bed Pyecroft pressed my hand, his voice thick with
emotion.
"We owe it to you," he said. "We owe it all to you. Didn't I say we never
met in _pup-pup-puris naturalibus_, if I may so put it, without a
remarkably hectic day ahead of us?"
"That's all right," I said. "Mind the candle." He was tracing smoke-
patterns on the wall.
"But what I want to know is whether we'll succeed in acclimatisin' the
blighter, or whether Sir William Gardner's keepers 'll kill 'im before 'e
gets accustomed to 'is surroundin's?"
Some day, I think, we must go up the Linghurst Road and find out.
"WIRELESS"
KASPAR'S SONG IN VARDA
(_From the Swedish of Stagnelius_.)
Eyes aloft, over dangerous places,
The children follow where Psyche flies,
And, in the sweat of their upturned faces,
Slash with a net at the empty skies.
So it goes they fall amid brambles,
And sting their toes on the nettle-tops,
Till after a thousand scratches and scrambles
They wipe their brows, and the hunting stops.
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