March had ushered in Spring and Gay-Neck, who had gone through an unusual moulting, looked like the very heart of a deep and large aquamarine. He was beautiful beyond description. One day, I know not how, I found him talking to Jahore's widow. She looked very bright with the advent of Spring. In the sunlight her black opal complexion glowed like a tropical night shot with stars. Of course I knew that marriage between her and Gay-Neck, though not the best thing for their offspring, might win him from his fear and her from the morose temper which had grown upon her ever since Jahore died. In order to encourage their friendship, I took the two together in a cage to my friend Radja who lived on the edge of the jungle about two hundred miles away. The name of his village was Ghatsila. It stood on the bank of a river across which lay high hills densely forested and full of all kinds of animals. Radja, being the priest of the village, which office his ancestors had held for ten centuries, and his parents, were housed in a large building of concrete. The village temple, also of concrete, was adjacent to the house. In the courtyard of the temple surrounded by high walls Radja every night performed the duty of reading the Scriptures and explaining them to the peasantry that assembled there. While he would read aloud inside, outside would come from far off the yell of a tiger or the trumpeting of wild elephants across the narrow river. It was a beautiful and sinister place. Nothing dangerous happened in the village of Ghatsila, but you did not have to go very far to encounter any beast of prey that you cared to seek. The train that brought me there reached Ghatsila at night. Radja and two servants of his house greeted me at the station. One of the servants took my bundle on his shoulder and the other carried the cage with the two pigeons. Each of us had to carry a hurricane-proof lantern, an extra one having been brought for me. In single file, one servant leading and another in the rear, we walked for an hour. My suspicions were aroused and I asked, "Why do we go round-about?" Radja said: "In the spring wild animals pass through here going north. We can't take short cuts through the woods." "Nonsense!" I exclaimed. "I have done it many times before. When do we reach home?" "In half an hour----" Then, as if the very ground had opened at our feet and belched out a volcano with a terrific noise, arose the cry "Hoa--ho--ho--ho--hoa!" The pigeons fluttered their wings in panic in their cage. I gripped Radja's shoulder with my disengaged hand, but instead of sharing my feelings he laughed out loud. And like master like servant--the two servants laughed too. After their mirth had subsided Radja explained: "You have done this many times, have you? Then why did the cry of monkeys frightened by lanterns scare you?" "Monkeys?" I questioned.