"Go right ahead, Zeph," insisted Ralph encouragingly, "we're interested." "Well, up among those big stone terraces is the whistling race. They are able to converse with one another at a distance of three miles." "That's pretty strong," observed Fred. "But make it three miles." "A Silvando will signal a friend he knows to be in a certain distant locality. He does it by setting his fore fingers together at a right angle in his mouth, just as you'll see these two Canaries do in a minute or two. An arrow of piercing sounds shoots across the ravine." "Arrow is good--shoots is good!" whispered Fred, nudging Ralph. "There is a moment's pause--" continued Zeph. "Oh, he's read all this in some book!" declared Fred. "Then there comes a thin almost uncanny whistle from far away. Conversation begins, and as the sounds rise and fall, are shrill or drawn, so they are echoed. Then comes the ghostly reply, and then question and answer follows. They talk--all right. Travelers say so, and a lot of scientific fellows are now on the track of this strange tribe to investigate them before civilization makes of their talk a dead language. Kara--ready!" called out Zeph to the boy at the bush. "Karo--attention!" "Sare," answered the little fellow, his bright twinkling eyes full of intelligence. "Ask him how many!" said Zeph "--see?" and he touched himself, the boy and Ralph and Fred with his forefinger in turn. Out rang a series of rising interrogatory sounds. There was a pause. Then from the boy stationed at the bush came quick responsive toots--one, two, three, four. "Tell Kara to bring you this--see, this?" and Zeph stooped down and touched the sodded yard with his hand. Karo whistled again. Immediately Kara wheeled, stooped also, and was at their side in an instant, tendering a handful of grass. "Say, this is odd all right," confessed Fred thoughtfully. "Tell Kara to climb a tree next," spoke Zeph. More "whistle talk," and agile as a monkey Kara was aloft, making dizzying whirls among the branches of an oak nearby. "I tell you, it would stun you to watch these little fellows at play. It's like a piccolo or a calliope to hear them talk--yes, sir, talking just as knowingly as we do." "Who are they, anyway?" spoke Fred curiously? "I've told you--Canaries." "Yes, but where did you pick them up?"