pulled Polly to pieces."

"You did what?" he cried, bursting into a roar of laughter. "Why, who
was Polly--one of the maids?"

"Oh no, sir! Aunt Sophy's stuffed parrot."

"Well, really, Nat," he said, laughing most heartily, "you're the
strangest boy I ever met."

"Am I, sir?" I said, feeling a little chilled again, for he seemed to
be laughing unpleasantly at me.

"That you are, Nat; but I like strange boys. So you pulled Polly to
pieces, eh? And found out where the naturalists put the wires, eh?"

"Yes, sir."

"And how do you preserve the skins?"

"With arsenical soap, sir."

"That's right; so do I."

"But it's very dangerous stuff, sir," I said eagerly.

"Not if it is properly used, my boy," he said, taking up bird after bird
and examining it carefully. "A fire is a very dangerous thing if you
thrust your hand into it, and Uncle Joe's razors are dangerous things if
they are not properly used. You see I don't trouble them much," he
added smiling.

"No, indeed, sir," I said, as I glanced at his long beard.

"I don't have hot water for shaving brought to me, Nat, when I'm at sea,
my boy, or out in the jungle. It's rough work there."

"But it must be very nice, sir," I said eagerly.

"Very, my boy, when you lie down to sleep beneath a tree, so hungry that
you could eat your boots, and not knowing whether the enemy that attacks
you before morning will be a wild beast, a poisonous serpent, or a
deadly fever."

"But it must be very exciting, sir," I cried.

"Very, my boy," he said drily. "Yes: that bird's rough, but I like the
shape. There's nature in it--at least as much as you can get by
imitation. Look, Joe, there's a soft roundness about that bird. It
looks alive. Some of our best bird-stuffers have no more notion of what
a bird is like in real life than a baby. What made you put that tomtit
in that position, Nat?" he said, turning sharply to me.

"That?--that's how they hang by the legs when they are picking the buds,
sir," I said nervously, for I was quite startled by his quick, sudden
way.

"To be sure it is, Nat, my boy. That's quite right. Always take nature
as your model, and imitate her as closely as you can. Some of the
stuffed birds at the British Museum used to drive me into a rage. Glad
to see you have the true ring in you, my boy."

I hardly knew what he meant by the "true ring", but it was evidently
meant kindly, and I felt hotter than ever; but my spirits rose a