“No, he is only talking now.”

“Talking?  It seems to me that birds can do ever so many more things than I thought they possibly could.”

“Black head,” said Nat, as he continued writing; “sort of gray on top and white in front; his tail is black and white and rusty looking underneath, and—­there, he has flown away!  Do you think that will do, and will uncle know his name?  Oh, I forgot, he says squank, goes head down, and picks things out of the tree bark.”  “Yes, that will do for a beginning, but father will tell you some simple names for the different parts of every bird, so that your descriptions need not confuse you.  If every one gave his own names, no two people would quite understand each other.”

“Oh!  I see a bird,” whispered Dodo, pointing to the grass at a little distance.  “See! it’s quite as big as a Pigeon and speckled all over black and brown and has a red mark on the back of its neck.  Please write it down for me, Olive; it takes me so long to write, and I haven’t seen it in front yet.  There, it’s turning round—­oh! it has a black mark in front of its neck like a cravat and it’s speckled underneath.  It has flown a little further off and is walking up a tree, and it’s very white on its back where its tail begins.  Oh! do hear it laugh, Nat.”  And the Flicker, the big Woodpecker with golden lining to its wings, for it was he, gave out peal after peal of his jolly call-note.

“Can’t we go in now to ask Uncle Roy the names of these birds, and see if he won’t begin our book this afternoon?”

“It isn’t an hour yet since we came out.  Come down through the orchard; I hear some Bluebirds singing and perhaps you can see them.  They are very tame, and often make their nests in the knot holes in these old trees.”

“See, Olive,” said Dodo, “what is that down in the grass by the fence?  It is something moving.  Do you think it can be any sort of a wild animal?”

“No, it’s a boy,” said Nat.  “I see his head.  Perhaps he has come to catch some birds.  Let’s drive him away.”  “Gently, gently, Nat,” said Olive; “it is a boy, but you are not sure that he is doing any harm, and besides it was only yesterday that you were vexed with me because I wouldn’t let you pop at the birds yourself.  We will ask him what he is doing.”

They went through the orchard, and found a boy, about twelve years old, lying in the grass.  He had dark hair and eyes, and a sun-burned face, but was very thin, and a rude crutch was lying beside him.

“Well, little boy,” said Olive pleasantly, “what is your name, and what are you doing here?”

The child looked frightened at first and hid his face on his arm, but finally looked up, and said timidly, “My name is Rap, and I was watching the birds.  Please, I didn’t know anybody lived here, only cows, and I’ve been coming in most times for two years.”

Then they saw that he had a tattered piece of a book in one hand, which he slipped inside his jacket as carefully as if it were a great treasure.