These incidents are quoted as some among the myriad interesting doings of the little folk which we observed in the heart of these great jungles. As we walked on, virgin forest surrounded us, with great trees centuries old, chained and netted together by miles upon miles of lianas. Now and then we entered a clear glade festooned by a maze of ropes and cables, with here and there a lofty monkey-ladder leading upward by a wavy series of narrow steps. The cicadas filled the air with the oriental droning of their song, and a big Red-crested Woodpecker[88] called loudly from a half-rotted, vine-choked tree. From the undergrowth came a soft rolling trill, a crescendo of power and sweetness, and when our Indian carrier whispered, “_Gallina del monte_,” we knew we were listening to the call of a Great Blue Tinamou[1]—one of those strange birds looking like brown, tailless fowls, but of so generalized a type that they form in many ways a link between the ostrich-like forms and the rest of the bird world. The bird which was calling soon became silent, but creeping slowly along we were fortunate enough to discover its nest on a bit of sunny turf near the end of a log in a partially overgrown clearing. All the delights of bird-nesting seemed consummated the moment we caught sight of the two wonderful eggs before us. The nest was merely a hollow scratched in the grass, but the sun was reflected from two shining spheres of metallic greenish blue, like two huge turquoises polished as by the wheel of a lapidary. Never were such eggs; they seemed of hard burnished metal, more akin to the stones lying about them than to the organic world, and yet, even as we looked, there appeared a tiny fracture, and in a few minutes the beak of a Tinamou chick had broken through to the outer air. The glistening cradle of stone would soon fall apart and give to the tropical world another life—one more mote among the millions upon millions about us. Now and then we would come across a huge low mound, clear of undergrowth, dotted with holes from which well-trodden paths led off in every direction. Some of these were six inches in width, so that we could easily walk in them. A twig poked down the holes and twisted about would come up covered with angry ants, great brownish-black fellows with a grip like a bulldog. Even this simile fails, for these insects will allow their heads to be pulled off before they will let go.