252 THE LAND OF THE LION 
These two hours, nine and four, are kept with extraor- 
dinary exactness. Men who make a business of collecting 
the eggs, if they are in a country where a view can be 
had over an extensive country, find that they can do better, 
by going to such vantage points at nine and four with their 
field glasses, than they can by roving over the country, 
even when assisted by sharp-eyed natives. They have 
assured me they can almost set their watches by the 
appearance of the birds. It used to be supposed that 
the broken eggs found lying round a nest were broken 
carelessly by the birds, or by the attack of some marauding 
hyena or jackal. Evidence is accumulating that the 
hen arranges certain of her left-over eggs, when the nest 
is full, at such a distance from the edge of the nest that 
both she and her faithful lord can feed on them. Oestriches, 
instead of being, as the fables had it, the most careless 
of parents, are extraordinarily brave and intelligent in 
the defence of their nests and their young. 
Several months have passed since I first said something 
in these notes about the “honey bird.” When my men 
told me that this strange little fellow was an actually reli- 
able guide to the bee tree, and that the natives depended 
on its guidance to find them honey, I did not believe it. 
Since then I have made a point of following up this 
little feathered challenger whenever I could do so. 
About the size of a small brown thrush, creamy white 
on the neck and upper breast, with a sharp chattering 
cry, it will light on a bough by the trail side and flutter 
from branch to branch. 
If a native wants honey he whistles to it at once. The 
N’dorobo and Elgaos sing a song to it: “You are a pretty 
little bird with a white throat, but don’t tell me any lies 
and lead me straight to the honey tree.” 
I think I must have followed the bird certainly more 
than a dozen times, and it never once failed to “‘lead me 
