ural legs
again. Wonderful thing, bird-stuffing! Hope we don't worry you, sir,
talkin'."

"Oh no, talk away," said Oliver smiling, as he made up a little
egg-shaped ball of cotton wool of the size of the bird's body, which
dangled upon a hook at the end of a string. And then he took a pinch of
the wool, doubled it, and thrust the doubled part into the skull,
leaving enough to form the bird's neck, followed up with the loose
egg-shaped pad which he laid upon the tied together wing bones, and
then, with a clever bit of manipulation, drew the skin over the pad,
gave the bird a bit of a shake, and, as if it had been some conjuring
trick, every feather came back into its right place, and to all
appearances there lay a dead bird before him on the head of the cask.

"Three cheers and a hextra hooray!" cried Smith. "Ain't that wonderful,
Billy? You and me couldn't ha' made a bird like that."

"No," said Oliver, laughing, "and I couldn't have furled the
main-topgallant sail like you two could."

"Well, sir, that's true enough," said Smith; "but if you wouldn't mind
me astin', `What's the good o' pysonin' a bird when it's dead?'"

"I don't," said Oliver, as he busily smoothed feathers and fitted the
bird's folded wings close to its sides, giving a pinch them in their
here and a pinch there before confining places by rolling a strip of
paper round, and fastening it with a pin.

"What I do is to poison the skin, so that it may be fatal to any
mischievous insect that might wish to eat it, and make the feathers fall
out."

"Why o' course, Tommy," growled Wriggs, "anybody could ha' know'd that."

"You didn't, Billy," said Smith shortly.

"Well, I can't say as I did quite, mate, but I do now, and I shan't
never forget it. But what's he doin' o' that for? It won't ketch cold
now."

"No," said Oliver, laughing, as he fitted a little cone of paper on the
bird's head by thrusting it with the beak right down to the end. "That
paper cap is to hold the bird's head well down upon its shoulders, so
that it may dry in a natural shape. Birds' necks fold so that they
always look very short."

"And what bird may that be, sir?" said Wriggs.

"A pitta--or ground thrush."

"A mercy on us!" said Smith. "It's a wonderful place this. Thrushes at
home is all browny speckly birds, and this here's blue and green."

"Yes, birds have brilliant plumage here, my lads. Now, then, what have
you got for me? Anything good?"

"Well,