“No, no, he cannot. The Chinese put a ring around the bottom of his neck so that he cannot swallow.” “That’s a great scheme,” the boy commented. “But why doesn’t the cormorant fly away?” “He is trained. Why doesn’t your dog run away?” “Training, I guess,” agreed Perry after a moment’s pause. “But a big bird seems different, somehow. How do they train them, Antoine?” “This way. They take the eggs of the cormorant, and set them to hatch under a hen.” “The ordinary hen—” interrupted the boy. “Yes, yes, the hen. As soon as the little cormorants are big enough to feed, they take them to a pond where there are a lot of small fish. They tie a string to one leg of the bird. When a cormorant catches a fish, the trainer whistles very loudly and then pulls in the bird by the string. He takes the fish and lets him go again. After a little time, when the bird hears the whistle, he comes back to the boat. It is pleasanter to swim back or to fly back than to be tugged by a string. “When the bird is big, they take him to the sea and he catches the fish, returning to the boat at the whistle. He cannot swallow the fish because of the ring. At the end of the day the cormorant gets all the fish he has caught that are not good for the market, and he keeps on catching all the day long because he is always hungry.” “Somebody ought to start a Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Birds,” put in Perry with a grin. “Why? It does not hurt the cormorant. He gets plenty to eat. It is not cruelty to make a bird work, any more than to make a horse work. But if you want to see something in Nature that is like a bully, look there!” The young scientist pointed over the port quarter of the steamer, where a flock of terns was wheeling and dipping. “What are those?” the boy queried. “Terns,” the other answered. “Very much like gulls, only that they are slenderer and have forked tails.” “I don’t see anything wrong there,” continued Perry after he had observed the merry bustle and excitement. “They seem rather jolly little chaps.” The other pointed a long accusing finger a little to the right of the flock. There, flying as straight as an arrow shot from a bow, with a steady swift flight came a dark and resolute-looking bird. Into that flock of terns he plunged, like a rakish pirate schooner cutting her path amid a fleet of white-sailed pleasure boats.