52 JUNGLE FOLK 



sounded like the calling of many cicadas. The birds 

 were evidently busy selecting perches on which to pass 

 the night, and there was, as there seems always to be 

 on such occasions, a certain amount of squabbling. I 

 was going to say " fighting," but perhaps that would be 

 too strong a word to use for this scramble for places. 

 At times, indeed, the scramble would develop into a 

 fight, and two birds emerge snapping at one another. 

 Once outside they would desist from fighting and return 

 to the tree. Occasionally a bee-eater would dart out 

 of the tree, and make a sally after some flying insect, 

 and, having caught it with a loud snap of its mandibles, 

 return to the tree and disappear into the " leafy bower." 

 While this was going on amid the foliage, fresh bee- 

 eaters kept coming in from a distance, mostly in pairs. 

 These all made direct for the tree, evidently knowing 

 it well. 



I crept up to within about six yards of the dormitory, 

 so as to witness as much as possible of what was going 

 on amongst the leaves. 



Some of the birds looked as though they had settled 

 down for the night, since they were quite quiet. Two, 

 in particular, had taken up a position, side by side, 

 close up against one another on a somewhat isolated 

 bough. They sat there quite still except for an occa- 

 sional turn of the head, which seemed to express 

 surprise and annoyance at the clamour of their 

 fellows. Several other individuals had settled down 

 in the same manner, in rows of two or more, huddled 

 as close as possible together, each row being on a 

 separate branch. 



