He will sing no longer the lively little scraps of Offenbach I have taught him.

He does nothing but sit still and mumble now in his own forgotten language.

And he's dreadfully cross--so crabbed--_mon Dieu_, what a character! Why, the other day, as I told you, he bit Tu-Kila-Kila himself, the high god of the island, with a good hard peck, when that savage tried to touch him; you'd have laughed to see his godship sent off bleeding to his hut with a wounded finger! I will confess I was by no means sorry at the sight myself.

I do not love that god, nor he me; and I was glad when Methuselah, on whom he is afraid to revenge himself openly, gave him a nice smart bite for trying to interfere with him." "He's very snappish, to be sure," Felix said, with a smile, trying once more to push forward one hand to stroke the bird cautiously.

But Methuselah resented all such unauthorized intrusions.