One page showed (in red and yellow chalk) a blazing fire in an Egyptian temple courtyard, the flames of which shot higher than the pylons of the temple gateway. Full in the center of the flames, wearing a peaceful look as though enjoying the process of being burned alive, was a large bird, with a crest of yellow feathers on its head, like an imperial crown. Under the picture was written “The Phœnix,” and on the page opposite, the story read: “Sir Thomas Browne says: ‘There is but one Phœnix in all the world, which after many hundred years burns herself, and from the ashes thereof riseth up another, is a conceit (belief) of great antiquity, not only delivered by humane (learned) writers but frequently expressed by holy writers.’” Perry’s father—then ten years old, had added: “Swan says this can’t be right because the animals had to go two by two into the Ark, and if there was only one Phœnix, Noah wouldn’t have let him in till he got another, and as there wasn’t another to get, he had to stay out, and everything that stayed out, died. For feathers of the Phœnix, see next page.” Wondering what in the wide world the feathers of the Phœnix could be like, Perry turned eagerly to the next page. There his father had drawn two long feathers and under them had written: “Feathers of the Phœnix. In Tradescant’s Museum, in Italy.” “But,” said Perry aloud, “I know what those feathers are! They’re from the Japanese Longtailed Fowl! I don’t wonder that those old fellows thought a feather eight feet long must come from a queer kind of bird! I think I’d do some guessing myself!” Old Sir John de Mandeville, that joyous traveler of the fourteenth century, was responsible for the next weird beast. This was a combination of an eagle and a lion. Perry’s father had evidently drawn it from a crest and labeled it “The Griffin,” while opposite was de Mandeville’s description: “Some men say that they have the body upward of an eagle and beneath, of a lion; and that is true. But one Griffin has a greater body and is stronger than ten lions, and greater and stronger than a hundred eagles.” “I should think,” commented Perry to himself, “Father could have seen that this was a fake, because a Griffin with a body as heavy as ten lions would have to have wings the size of an armored aëroplane.” The boy had hardly framed the words, when turning the page, he saw some birds pictured, which made the largest modern flying machine seem small. In the distance was one of these huge birds flying away with an elephant in its beak. Near by, a man in turban and robe was tying himself to the claw of one of the birds, the creature’s leg being as thick as the trunk of a big tree. This was “The Roc,” and Perry’s father had copied out in his smallest handwriting, all that happened to Sindbad the Sailor and the Third Calendar in the land of the Roc, as told in the Arabian Nights.