He dropped down on his stomach and carefully began to worm his way under the thicket. The branches grew very low, and the ground was full of lumps and knobs which dug into him with every movement. There were vines, too, and some prickly things like thistles, which had to be pushed out of the way without allowing their leaves to rustle. He progressed by inches, pushing with his toes, pulling with his finger tips, wriggling with the rest of his body. At last he could see light breaking through the foliage in front of him--he was nearing the other side. A bunch of leaves hung before his face. He hesitated, then pushed them aside gently, slowly--and peered out. He thought his heart would stop. [Illustration] 2: _In Which David Meets the Phoenix, and There Is a Change in Plans_ [Illustration] There stood an enormous bird. David had been to the zoo, and at home he had a book of birds with colored pictures. He knew the more common large birds of the world: the ostrich, the condor, the albatross, eagles, cranes, storks. But _this_ bird--! Its shape was like that of an eagle, but stouter. Its neck had the length and elegant curve of a swan's neck. Its head was again like an eagle's, with a hooked bird-of-prey beak, but the expression in its brown eyes was mild. The long wings were blunt at the tips, the tail was short and broad. The legs, feathered halfway down, ended in taloned feet. An iridescent sheen sparkled on its plumage, reflecting sunlight from the scarlet crest, the golden neck and back, the breast of silver, the sapphire wings and tail. Its size alone would have been enough to take David's breath away. He could have stood beneath the arch of that neck with room to spare. But the most astonishing thing was that the bird had an open book on the ground and was apparently trying to learn part of it by heart. "_Vivo, vives, vive_," the bird read, very slowly and distinctly, staring hard at the book. "_Vivimos, vivis, viven._ _That_ is simple enough, you blockhead! Now, then, without looking." It cleared its throat, looked away from the book, and repeated in a rapid mutter: "_Vivo vives vive vi_--ah--_vivi_--oh, dear, what _is_ the matter with me?" Here the temptation to peek overcame it for an instant, and its head wavered. But it said, "No, no!" in a firm tone, looked carefully the other way, and began once more. "_Vivo, vives, vive_--quite correct so far. Ah--_vi_--ah--Oh, dear, these verbs! Where was I? Oh, yes. _Vivo_--"