"_He!_ my Methuselah," he cried, in French, stroking the exultant bird with his hand, and smoothing its ruffled feathers, "did he try to choke you, then?
Did he try to get over you?
That was a brave bird! You did well, _mon ami_, to bite him!...

No, no, Life of the World, and Measurer of the Sun's Course," he went on, in Polynesian, "you shall not go near him.

Keep your distance, I beg of you.

You may be a high god--though you were a scurvy wretch enough, don't you recollect, when you were only Lavita, the son of Sami--but I know your tricks.

Hands off from my birds, say I.A curse is on the head of the Soul of dead parrots.
You tried to hurt him, and see how the curse has worked itself out! The blood of the great god, the Pillar of Heaven, has stained the gray dust of the island of Boupari." Tu-Kila-Kila stood sucking his finger, and looking the very picture of the most savage sheepishness..