They'll be wondering what we've come for; they'll be disliking us for being so clumsy and making such a racket, and they'll be keeping just as still as so many stones in the hope that we won't see them--except, of course, certain of the birds, which fly in the open and are used to being seen, and don't care a hang for us because they think us such poor creatures in not being able to fly--" At this point the Child had interrupted: "Wouldn't they be surprised," he murmured, "if we did ?" "I expect they've got some surprises coming to them that way one of these days!" agreed Uncle Andy.

"But, as I was saying, we'll be well watched ourselves for a while.

But it's a curious thing about the wild creatures, or at least about a great many of them, that for all their keenness their eyes don't seem to _distinguish_ things as sharply as we do.

The very slightest movement they detect, sometimes at an astonishing distance.

But when a person is perfectly motionless for a long time, they seem to confuse him with the stumps and stones and bushes in a most amazing fashion.