A Dog in Exile. 65 
of flamingoes in a lagoon ; they were standing in the 
water, about seventy-five or eighty yards from the 
shore, quietly dozing. Fortunately the lagoon was 
bordered by a dense bed of tall rushes, about fifteen 
yards in breadth, so that I was able to approach 
the birds unseen by them, I crept up to the rushes 
in a fever of delighted excitement ; not that flamin- 
goes are not common in that district, but because I 
had noticed that one of the birds before me was the 
largest and loveliest flamingo I had ever set eyes 
on, and I had long been anxious to secure one very 
perfect specimen. J think my hand trembled a 
great deal; nevertheless, the bird dropped when I 
fired; and then how quickly the joy I experienced 
was changed to despair when I looked on the wide 
expanse of mud, reeds and water that separated 
him from me! How was I ever to get him? for it 
is as much as a man’s life is worth to venture into 
one of these long river-like lagoons in the valley, 
as under the quiet water there is a bed of mire, soft 
as clotted cream, and deep enough for a giant’s 
grave. I thought of Major, but not for a moment 
did I believe that he, poor dog! was equal to the 
task. When I fired he dashed hurriedly forward, 
and came against the wall of close rushes, where he 
struggled hopelessly for a little while, and then 
floundered back tome. There was, however, nothing 
else to be done. ‘Major, come here,” I called, 
and, taking a lump of clay I threw it as far as I 
could towards the floating bird. He raised his ears, 
and listened to get the right direction, and when the 
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