190 BEAUTIFUL BIRDS 
when he is found, he is always shot for those beautiful 
feathers of his. When the Indian who is looking for 
him sees him sitting in the way I have told you, he 
hides somewhere near and imitates the cry of the 
bird. When the poor Trogon hears it, he thinks it is 
another Trogon—a friend of his, perhaps—and so he 
comes flying to where the sound came from. Then 
this deceitful man—and I really think it is very con- 
temptible to deceive a bird in that way—shoots him, 
and there is one beautiful, happy bird less in the 
world. Is it not dreadful to think of, that in almost 
every part of the world there are some very beautiful 
birds to be found, and everywhere they are being 
killed and killed and killed, so that they are getting 
scarcer and scarcer every year? If it were not for 
what your mother has promised you about the Lyre- 
bird, and what she is going to promise you about this 
Trogon, there would soon be no more beautiful Lyre- 
birds in Australia, and no more beautiful Trogons in 
Mexico. How terrible that would be! But we have 
saved the beautiful Lyre-bird, and now we are going 
to save the beautiful Trogon. Ask your mother— 
oh, do ask her—to promise, most faithfully, never 
to have anything whatever to do with a hat that has 
any of the feathers—short or long, golden-green or 
vermilion—of a Quezal—a Resplendent Trogon— 
in it. Ah, now she has promised, and we have 
