Pheasant, and not the hen bird, that does it, but I am sure she will not blame _him_ on that account. But I am sorry to say that the wicked little demon has found out a way of making this habit of the poor bird's--which is such a good one--a means of killing him. The people who live in that part of the world--those yellow people called Malays that I have told you of--know all about the ways of the Argus Pheasant, and how he will _not_ have things lying about in his drawing-room. Now there is a great tall reed that grows there, called the bamboo, which I am sure you have heard of, and which your mother will tell you all about. The Malays cut off a piece of this bamboo, about two feet long, and then they shave it down--all except about six inches at one end of it--till it is almost as thin as writing paper. It looks like a piece of ribbon then, only, as it is very hard, as well as thin, its edges are quite sharp, and able to cut like a razor. But the piece at the end, which has been left and not shaved down, they cut into a point, so that it makes a peg, and this peg, that has a ribbon at the end of it, they stick into the ground, right in the middle of the Argus Pheasant's drawing-room. So, when the poor Argus Pheasant comes into his drawing-room, he sees something lying on the floor, which has no business to be there. It may be only a ribbon, but that is not the right place for it, so he tries to pick it up and throw it outside. But it won't come, however much he pulls it, for the peg at the end is fixed in the ground, and he is not strong enough to pull it out. At last he gets angry and thinks he will make a great effort. He twists the long ribbon round and round his neck--just as you would twist a piece of string round and round your hand if you were going to pull it hard--then takes hold of it with his beak, just above the ground, and gives quite a tremendous spring backwards. You may guess what happens. The long peg does not come out of the ground, but the ribbon is drawn quite tight round the poor bird's own neck, and the sharp edges almost cut his head off. Now is not _that_ a most cruel trick to play upon a bird who only wants to keep his drawing-room in proper order? How would your dear mother like to be treated in such a way for being _neat_ and _tidy_, which I am sure she is? But we are going to stop it--this cruel trick of the wicked little demon--for it was he who thought of it and taught it to the Malays. It is not _their_ fault, you must not be angry with them, any more than with the poor women whose hearts the same demon has frozen. We are going to stop it, and you know how. The Malay only kills the poor Argus Pheasant to sell his feathers. If _they_ were not wanted he would leave him alone, to be happy and beautiful, and to dance in a nice tidy drawing-room. So just ask your mother to promise never to wear a hat--or anything else--that has a feather, or even a little piece of a feather, of an Argus Pheasant in it.