"It's only a hen pheasant, Cetchy," he whispered, "but she made such a row getting up right under our feet just as we were talking about the ghost. It quite gave me the jumps." "She's got nest too," said the other, who had been peering into the undergrowth. "Look, nine, ten eggs! That's good?" "Yes, but you can't take them. Never meddle with game eggs." "How I make collection if I not take eggs?" This was pertinent, and Haviland was nonplussed, but only for a moment. "I've got some extra specimens I'll give you," he answered. "Come on, leave these, and let the bird come back." The other looked somewhat wistfully at the smooth olive-hued eggs lying there temptingly in their shallow bowl of dry leaves and grass. Then he turned away. "We'll find plenty of others," said Haviland. "Last time I was here I took a nest of blackcap's, and the eggs were quite pink instead of brown. That's awfully rare. We'll see if there are any more in the same place." Round the cover they went, then across it, then back again, all with a regular system, and soon their collecting boxes were filled--including some good sorts. "There! Big bird go away up there," whispered Anthony pointing upward. They were standing under a clump of dark firs. Over their tops Haviland glimpsed the quick arrowy flight. "A sparrow-hawk, by Jingo!" he said. "Sure to have a nest here too." A keen and careful search revealed this, though it was hidden away so snugly in the fir-top, that it might have been passed by a hundred times. The Zulu boy begged to be allowed to go up. "I think not this time, Cetchy," decided Haviland. "It's an easy climb, but then you haven't had enough practice in stowing the eggs, and these are too good to get smashed." It was not everything to get up the tree: half the point was to do so as noiselessly as possible, both of which feats were easy enough to so experienced a climber as Haviland. He was soon in the fir-top, the loose untidy pile of sticks just over his head; another hoist--and then--most exciting moment of all, the smooth warm touch of the eggs. The while the parent bird, darting to and fro in the air, came nearer and nearer his head with each swoop. But for this he cared nothing. "Look, Cetchy," he whispered delightedly as he stood once more on _terra firma_ and exhibited the bluish-white treasures with their rich sepia blotches. "Three of them, and awfully good specimens. Couple days later there'd have been four or five, still three's better than none. You shall have these two to start your collection with, and I'll stick to this one with the markings at the wrong end. What's the row?" For the Zulu boy had made a sign for silence, and was standing in an attitude of intense listening. "Somebody coming," he whispered. "One man." Haviland's nerves thrilled. But listen as he would his practised ear could hear nothing.