as particularly emphatic, for the beautiful Miss Holden
had promised to be his wife. He, for one, will never forget Christmas at
Happy-Thought Hall.

THE ARRIVAL OF BLACKMAN'S WARBLER

I am become an Authority on Birds. It happened in this way.

The other day we heard the Cuckoo in Hampshire. (The next morning the
papers announced that the Cuckoo had been heard in Devonshire--possibly a
different one, but in no way superior to ours except in the matter of its
Press agent.) Well, everybody in the house said, "Did you hear the
Cuckoo?" to everybody else, until I began to get rather tired of it; and,
having told everybody several times that I _had_ heard it, I tried to
make the conversation more interesting. So, after my tenth "Yes," I added
quite casually:

"But I haven't heard the Tufted Pipit yet. It's funny why it should be so
late this year."

"Is that the same as the Tree Pipit?" said my hostess, who seemed to know
more about birds than I had hoped.

"Oh, no," I said quickly.

"What's the difference exactly?"

"Well, one is tufted," I said, doing my best, "and the other--er--climbs
trees."

"Oh, I see."

"And of course the eggs are more speckled," I added, gradually acquiring
confidence.

"I often wish I knew more about birds," she said regretfully. "You must
tell us something about them now we've got you here."

And all this because of one miserable Cuckoo!

"By all means," I said, wondering how long it would take to get a book
about birds down from London.

However, it was easier than I thought. We had tea in the garden that
afternoon, and a bird of some kind struck up in the plane-tree.

"There, now," said my hostess, "what's that?"

I listened with my head on one side. The bird said it again.

"That's the Lesser Bunting," I said hopefully.

"The Lesser Bunting," said an earnest-looking girl; "I shall always
remember that."

I hoped she wouldn't, but I could hardly say so. Fortunately the bird
lesser-bunted again, and I seized the opportunity of playing for safety.

"Or is it the Sardinian White-throat?" I wondered. "They have very much
the same note during the breeding season. But of course the eggs are more
speckled," I added casually.

And so on for the rest of the evening. You see how easy it is.

However, the next afternoon a more unfortunate occurrence occurred. A
real Bird Authority came to tea. As soon as the information leaked out, I
sent up a hasty prayer for bird-silen