Nat the Naturalist Part 12

"But do these lovely creatures suck all the little birds' eggs to make their voices clear?"

"And when they cry 'cuckoo' the summer draws near, eh, Nat? No, my boy, I think not. To begin with, I believe that it is all a vulgar error about the cuckoo sucking little birds' eggs. Doubtless cuckoos have been shot with eggs in their mouths, perhaps broken in the fall, but I think the eggs they carried were their own, which, after laying, they were on their way to put in some other bird's nest to be hatched, as it is an established fact they do; and because they are very small eggs people think they are those of some other bird that the cuckoo has stolen."

"Are cuckoos' eggs small, uncle?" I said.

"Very, my boy, for so large a bird. I have seen them very little larger than the wagtail's with which they were placed. Then as to their crying 'cuckoo' when summer draws near. I have heard their notes, and they live in a land of eternal summer. But go on emptying the case."

I drew out specimen after specimen, some even more beautiful than the first I had taken from the case, though some were far more sober in their hues; but I had not taken out one yet from the top row. When at last I set one of these free, with his tail quite a yard in length, my admiration knew no bounds.

In colouring it was wonderfully like the first which I have described, but in addition it had a golden-green crest, and the long feathers of the tail were of the same brilliant metallic colour. It seemed to me then--and though now I find beauties in sober hues I do not think I can alter my opinion--one of the loveliest, I should say one of the most magnificent, birds in creation, and when fourteen of these wonderful creatures were laid side by side I could have stopped for hours revelling in their beauties.

"Well, Nat," said my uncle, who quite enjoyed my thorough admiration, "I should make quite a naturalist of you if I had you with me."

"Oh, if I could go!" I cried in an excited tone, at which he merely laughed. "I'd give anything to see those birds alive."

"It requires some work and patience, my boy. I was a whole year in the most inaccessible places hunting for those trogons before I got them."

"Trogons! Yes, you said they were trogons."

"_Trogon resplendens_. Those long-tailed feathers are fitly named, Nat, for they are splendid indeed."

"Glorious!" I cried enthusiastically; and though we worked for some time longer my help was very poor, on account of the number of times I kept turning to the splendid trogons to examine their beauties again and again.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

MY HOPES.

It was a long task, the emptying of those cases, even to get to the end of the birds, and I could not help thinking, as day after day crept by, what a wonderfully patient collector my Uncle Richard must have been.

Certainly he had been away for years and had travelled thousands of miles, but the labour to obtain all these birds, and then carefully skin, prepare, and fill them with wool, must have been tremendous.

"And did you shoot them all, uncle?" I asked one day.

"With very few exceptions, my boy," he replied, laying down his pen for a minute to talk. "I might have bought here and there specimens of the natives, but they are very rough preservers of birds, and I wanted my specimens to be as perfect as could be, as plenty of poor ones come into this country, some of which are little better than rubbish, and give naturalists a miserable idea of the real beauty of the birds in their native homes. But no one can tell the immense amount of labour it cost me to make this collection, as you will see, Nat, when we open this next case."

Uncle d.i.c.k was right. I was astonished as we emptied the next case, which was full of tiny specimens, hundreds upon hundreds of humming-birds, with crests and throats like beautiful precious stones, and all so small that it seemed wonderful how they could have been skinned and preserved.

The more I worked with Uncle d.i.c.k the more I wondered, and the stronger grew my desire to follow in his steps. So when we had all the birds out so that they could dry in the warm air of the room, there were the cases full of beetles of all kinds, with glistening h.o.r.n.y wing-cases; b.u.t.terflies so large and beautiful that I used to lean over them, feast my eyes on their colours, and then go into day-dreams, in which I pictured to myself the wonderful far-off lands that produced such creatures, and think and think how it would be possible to go out there all alone, as my uncle had gone, and spend years in collecting these various objects to bring home.

Then I used to wake up again and work hard with my uncle, writing out names in his lists, all as carefully as I could, but of course making plenty of mistakes in the Latin names, while Uncle Joe used to sit and smoke and look on, rarely speaking for fear of interrupting us, till Uncle d.i.c.k looked up and started a conversation by way of a rest.

Then all the different birds when thoroughly dry had to be repacked in the boxes, with plenty of camphor and other preservative spices and gums to keep the various insects away, and quite a couple of months had slipped away before we were nearly done.

I ought to have been back at school, but Uncle d.i.c.k would not hear of my going, and he seemed to have such influence over my aunt that his word was quite law.

"No, Sophy, I have not half done with him," he said one evening. "I don't want to flatter the boy, but he is very valuable to me. I could easily get a clerk or copyist to make out my lists and help me select and rearrange my specimens; but he would do it mechanically. Nat takes an interest in what he is doing, and is a naturalist at heart."

"But he ought to be going on with his studies," said Aunt Sophia. "It is quite time he was back at school."

"He is learning a great deal more than he would at school," said Uncle d.i.c.k; "and his handwriting is a good deal improved. It is more free and quicker."

"But there are his other studies," said Aunt Sophia, who was in a bad humour.

"Well, Sophy, he has picked up a great deal of Latin since he has been helping me; knows ten times as much as he did about America and the West Indian Islands, and has picked up a host of little natural history facts, for he is always asking questions."

"Oh yes," said my aunt tartly, "he can ask questions enough! so can all boys."

"But not sensible questions, my dear," said Uncle d.i.c.k smiling; but my aunt kept looking angrily at me as I sat hearing all that was going on.

"Sensible questions, indeed!" she said; "and pray, of what use is it going to be to him that he knows how to stick a pin through a b.u.t.terfly and leave the poor thing to wriggle to death."

"Naturalists do not stick pins through b.u.t.terflies and leave them to wriggle to death," said Uncle d.i.c.k, looking at me and smiling. "Suppose they did, Nat, what would happen?"

"It would be very cruel, uncle, and would spoil the specimen," I said promptly.

"To be sure it would, Nat."

"It's all waste of time, Richard, and the boy shall go back to school."

"I have not done with Nat yet, Sophy, and I shall be obliged by your ceasing to talk nonsense. It worries me."

This was said in so quiet and decided a way, and in the voice of one so accustomed to command, that my aunt said:

"Well, Richard, I suppose it must be as you wish."

"Yes, if you please," he said quietly. "I have the boy's interest at heart as much as you."

As the time went on my aunt and Uncle d.i.c.k had two or three little encounters over this, in all of which Aunt Sophy was worsted; Uncle d.i.c.k quietly forcing her to let him have his own way in everything.

This set me thinking very much about the future, for I knew that in less than two months' time Uncle d.i.c.k would be off upon his new expedition; one that was to be into the most unfrequented regions of the East Indian Islands, though he had said very little about it in my presence.

"I should like to know all about where you are going, Uncle d.i.c.k," I said one afternoon, as we were working together.

"Why, my boy?"

"Because it is so interesting to know all about foreign lands, uncle."

"Well, my boy, I think of going from here straight away to Singapore, either with or without a stay at Ceylon. From Singapore I mean to traverse most of the islands along the equator, staying longest at such of them as give me plenty of specimens. Then I shall go on and on to New Guinea, collecting all the time, spending perhaps four or five years out there before I return; that is, if the Malays and Papuans will be kind enough to leave me alone and not throw spears at me."

"You will go where all the most beautiful birds are plentiful, uncle?"

I said.

"Yes, my boy, collecting all the time."

"Shall you go alone, uncle?" I ventured to say after a pause.

"Yes, my boy, quite alone, except that I shall engage one or two native servants at the places where I stay, and perhaps I shall buy a boat for my own special use to cruise from island to island. Why, what are you sighing about, boy?"