Green Mansions. W. H. Hudson

merriment—for it amused me to see him acting in this unusual way. But they all failed of their effect—there was no hitting the bull's-eye a second time; he would only stare vacantly at me, then grunt like a peccary—not appreciatively—and walk on. ​Still, at intervals he would go back to what I said about hitting a very big bird, and roar again, as if this wonderful joke was not easily exhausted.

      Again on the third day we were out together practising at the birds—frightening, if not killing them; but before noon, finding that it was his intention to go to a distant spot where he expected to meet with larger game, I left him and returned to the village. The blow-pipe practice had lost its novelty, and I did not care to go on all day and every day with it; more than that, I was anxious after so long an interval to pay a visit to my wood, as I began to call it, in the hope of hearing that mysterious melody, which I had grown to love and to miss when even a single day passed without it.