There was another burst of screaming. On its perch in the dead tree the bird was turning nervously this way and that; then, with a final screech, it dived into the air. Without taking her eyes from Will's face, the girl held out her hand invitingly. The bird fluttered, settled, flapped wildly, found its balance, then folded its wings and immediately started to hiccup. Will looked on without surprise. Anything was possible now-anything. Even talking birds that would perch on a child's finger. Will tried to smile at them; but his lips were still trembling, and what was meant to be a sign of friendliness must have seemed like a frightening grimace. The little boy took cover behind his sister.

The bird stopped hiccuping and began to repeat a word that Will did not understand. "Runa"-was that it? No, "karuna," Definitely "karuna."

He raised a trembling hand and pointed at the fruit in the round basket. Mangoes, bananas . . . His dry mouth was watering.

"Hungry," he said. Then, feeling that in these exotic circumstances the child might understand him better if he put on an imitation of a musical-comedy Chinaman, "Me velly hungry," he elaborated.

"Do you want to eat?" the child asked in perfect English.

"Yes-eat," he repeated, "eat."

"Fly away, mynah!" She shook her hand. The bird uttered a protesting squawk and returned to its perch on the dead tree. Lifting her thin little arms in a gesture that was like a dancer's, the child raised the basket from her head, then lowered it to the ground. She selected a banana, peeled it and, torn between fear and compassion, advanced towards the stranger. In his incomprehensible language the little boy uttered a cry of warning and clutched at her skirt. With a reassuring word, the girl halted, well out of danger, and held up the fruit.