He and Alner had to cut the kitchen wood.  Each had his daily allotment, as well as other chores.  Yan’s was always done faithfully, but the other evaded his work in every way.  He was a notorious little fop.  The paternal poverty did not permit his toilet extravagance to soar above one paper collar per week, but in his pocket he carried a piece of ink eraser with which he was careful to keep the paper collar up to standard.  Yan cared nothing about dress—­indeed, was inclined to be slovenly.  So the eldest brother, meaning to turn Alner’s weakness to account, offered a prize of a twenty-five-cent necktie of the winner’s own choice to the one who did his chores best for a month.  For the first week Alner and Yan kept even, then Alner wearied, in spite of the dazzling prize.  The pace was too hot.  Yan kept on his usual way and was duly awarded the twenty-five cents to be spent on a necktie.  But in the store a bright thought came tempting him.  Fifteen cents was as much as any one should spend on a necktie—­that’s sure; the other ten would get the book.  And thus the last dime was added to the pile.  Then, bursting with joy and with the pride of a capitalist, he went to the book-shop and asked for the coveted volume.

He was tense with long-pent feeling.  He expected to have the bookseller say that the price had gone up to one thousand dollars, and that all were sold.  But he did not.  He turned silently, drew the book out of a pile of them, hesitated and said, “Green or red cover?”

“Green,” said Yan, not yet believing.  The book-man looked inside, then laid it down, saying in a cold, business tone, “Ninety cents.”

“Ninety cents,” gasped Yan.  Oh! if only he had known the ways of booksellers or the workings of cash discounts.  For six weeks had he been barred this happy land—­had suffered starvation; he had misappropriated funds, he had fractured his conscience and all to raise that ten cents—­that unnecessary dime.

He read that book reverentially all the way home.  It did not give him what he wanted, but that doubtless was his own fault.  He pored over it, studied it, loved it, never doubting that now he had the key to all the wonders and mysteries of Nature.  It was five years before he fully found out that the text was the most worthless trash ever foisted on a torpid public.  Nevertheless, the book held some useful things; first, a list of the bird names; second, some thirty vile travesties of Audubon and Wilson’s bird portraits.

These were the birds thus maligned: 

Duck Hawk Rose-breasted Grosbeak
Sparrow Hawk Bobolink
White-headed Eagle Meadow Lark
Great Horned Owl Bluejay
Snowy Owl Ruffed Grouse
Red-headed Woodpecker Great Blue Heron
Golden-winged Woodpecker Bittern
Barn-swallow Wilson’s Snipe
Whip-poor-will Long-biller Curlew