Nat the Naturalist Part 11

I stopped to think, and then recollected what he had said a short time before.

"A crow, uncle."

"Quite right, my boy; but that bird is not one of the crows. Try again."

"I'm afraid to try, uncle," I said.

"Why, my boy?"

"Because I shall make some silly mistake."

"Then make a mistake, Nat, and we will try to correct it. We learn from our blunders."

"It looks to me something of the same shape as a thrush or blackbird, sir," I said.

"And that's what it is, my boy. That bird is an oriole--the orange oriole; and there is another, the yellow oriole. Both thrushes, Nat, and out in the East there are plenty more of most beautiful colours, especially the ground-thrushes. But there is someone come to call us to feed, I suppose. We must go now."

"Oh!" I exclaimed, "what a pity! we seem to have just begun."

All the same we had been at work for a very long time, so hands were washed, and we all went in to dinner.

CHAPTER TEN.

ALL AMONGST THE BIRD SKINS.

My aunt waylaid me with a very unpleasant task directly after dinner, but Uncle d.i.c.k saw my disappointment, and said that he must have me, so I escaped, and, to my great delight, we went at once to his room to go on unpacking the birds, my excitement and wonder increasing every minute. I was rather disappointed with some of the skins, for they were as plain and ordinary looking as sparrows or larks; but Uncle d.i.c.k seemed to set great store by them, and said that some of the plainest were most valuable for their rarity.

Uncle Joe sat and looked on, saying very little, while Uncle d.i.c.k and I did the unpacking and arranging, laying the beautiful skins out in rows upon the boards and shelves.

"They wanted unpacking," said Uncle d.i.c.k, "for some of them are quite soft and damp with exposure to the sea air. Well, Nat, what is it?"

"I was hoping to find some birds of paradise, uncle," I replied.

"Then your hopes will be disappointed, my boy, for the simple reason that my travels have been in Florida, Mexico, Central America, Peru, and Brazil, with a short stay of a few months in the West Indies."

"And are there no birds of paradise there, uncle?"

"No, my boy, nor yet within thousands of miles. Birds of paradise, as they are called, are found in the isles of the eastern seas, the Aru Isles and New Guinea."

"Oh! how I should like to go!" I cried.

"You?" he said laughing. "What for, Nat?"

"To shoot and collect, sir," I cried; "it must be grand."

"And dangerous, and wearisome," he said smiling. "You would soon want to come back to Uncle Joe."

"I shouldn't like to leave Uncle Joe," I said thoughtfully; "but I should like to go all the same. I'd take Uncle Joe with me," I said suddenly. "He'd help me ever so."

Uncle d.i.c.k laughed, and we went on with our task, which never seemed to weary me, so delighted was I with the beauty of the birds. As one box was emptied another was begun, and by the time I had finished the second I thought we had exhausted all the beauty of the collection, and said so, but my uncle laughed.

"Why, we have not begun the chatterers yet, Nat," he said. "Let me see--yes," he continued, "they should be in that box upon which your uncle's sitting."

Uncle Joe solemnly moved to another case and his late seat was opened, the layers of cotton-wool, in this case a little stained with sea-water, removed, and fresh beauties met my gaze.

"There, Nat," said Uncle d.i.c.k; "those are the fruits of a long stay in Central America and the hotter parts of Peru. What do you think of that bird?"

I uttered an exclamation of delight as I drew forth and laid gently in my hand a short stumpy bird that must in life have been about as big as a very thick-set pigeon. But this bird was almost entirely of a rich orange colour, saving its short wings and tail, which were of a cinnamon-brown, and almost hidden by a fringe of curly, crisp orange plumes, while the bird's beak was covered by the radiating crest, something like a frill, that arched over the little creature's head.

"Why, nothing could be more beautiful than that, uncle," I cried. "What is it?"

"The rock manakin, or chatterer," he replied; "an inhabitant of the hottest and most sterile parts of Central America. Here is another kind that I shot in Peru. You see it is very similar but has less orange about it, and its crest is more like a tuft or shaving-brush than the lovely radiating ornament of the other bird. That is almost like a wheel of feathers in rapid motion."

"And as orange as an orange," said Uncle Joe, approvingly.

"I thought we could not find any more beautiful birds in your boxes, uncle," I said.

"Oh! but we have not done yet, my boy; wait and see."

We went on with our task, the damp peculiar odour showing that it was high time the cases were emptied.

"Now, Nat, we are coming to the cuckoos," he said, as I lifted a thin layer of wool.

"It does seem curious for there to be cuckoos in America," I said.

"I don't see why, Nat," he replied, as he carefully arranged his specimens. "You remember I told you it was a cuckoo, probably from Malacca, that you showed me you had bought; well, those you are about to unpack are some of the American representatives of the family. You will see that they are soft-billed birds, with a very wide gape and bristles like moustaches at the sides like thin bars to keep in the captives they take."

"And what do they capture, sir?" I asked.

"Oh, caterpillars and b.u.t.terflies and moths, Nat. Soft-bodied creatures. Nature has given each bird suitable bills for its work.

Mind how you take out that bird. No: don't lift it yet. See, that top row must come out after the whole of that layer which is arranged all over the top row's tails."

"What! do their tails go right along the box, uncle?" I cried.

"Yes, some of them, my boy. Be careful: those are very tender and delicate birds."

I lifted one, and held it out to Uncle Joe, who came down from his seat to examine the glories of the bird I had in my hands.

It was something like the cinnamon-brown and crimson bird I had bought, but much larger. Its breast was of a vivid rosy crimson, and its back and head one ma.s.s of the most brilliant golden-green. Not the green of a leaf or strand of gra.s.s, but the green of glittering burnished metal that flashed and sparkled in the suns.h.i.+ne. It seemed impossible for it to be soft and downy, for each feather looked harsh, hard, and carved out of the brilliant flas.h.i.+ng metal, while turn it which way I would it flashed and looked bright.

"Well, Nat," said Uncle d.i.c.k, "what do you say to that?"

"Oh, uncle," I cried; "it is wonderful! But that cannot be a cuckoo."

"Why not, Nat? If cuckoos are slaty coloured here and have b.r.e.a.s.t.s striped like a hawk, that is no reason why in the hot climates, where the sun burns your skin brown, they should not be brightly coloured in scarlet and green. You have seen that the modest speckled thrush of England has for relatives thrushes of yellow and orange. What has the poor cuckoo done that his hot country friends should not be gay?"