"I believe," said I, laughing, "this must be the country of pigmies, and they are coming to welcome us."
"They are the Lilliputians, father," said Jack; "I have read of them; but I thought they had been less."
"As if Gulliver’s Travels was true!" said Fritz, in a tone of derision.
"Then are there no pigmies?" asked he.
"No, my dear boy," said I; "all these stories are either the invention or the mistakes of ancient navigators, who have taken troops of monkeys for men, or who have wished to repeat something marvellous. But the romance of Gulliver is an allegory, intended to convey great truths."
"And now," said Fritz, "I begin to see our pigmies have beaks and wings."
"You are right," said I; "they are penguins, as Ernest explained to us some time since. They are good swimmers; but, unable to fly, are very helpless on land."
I steered gently to the shore, that I might not disturb them; but Jack leaped into the water up to his knees, and, dashing among the penguins, with a stick struck right and left, knocking down half a dozen of the poor stupid birds before they were aware. Some of these we brought away alive. The rest, not liking such a reception, took to the water, and were soon out of sight. I scolded Jack for his useless rashness, for the flesh of the penguin is by no means a delicacy.
We now filled our three wheel-barrows with such things as we could carry, not forgetting the sheets of iron and the graters, and trudged home. Our dogs announced our approach, and all rushed
