put out his
hand awkwardly, but there was a vigor in his lingering grip that told
something of the feelings words refused to express.

"You--weren't in school, so I thought maybe you were--sick, or
something," Sanson returned. "Gee! What a dandy room!"

Now that the worst was over he began to be rather glad he had come,
and stared about him with eager interest. Certainly it was a room to
excite any boy's enthusiasm. Long and rather narrow, there were two
windows on one side through which the winter sun poured cheerfully.
Against the opposite wall, and filling almost the entire space, was
a large glass-fronted case, containing the most amazingly realistic
reproduction of woodland life the boy had ever seen.

Fastened in one corner was the gnarled crotch of a tree with a great,
roughly built nest of twigs and leaves from which two baby hawks,
their down just giving place to feathers, thrust up inquiring heads.
At the other end of the case stood a section of a silvery white oak,
with one long branch extending along the back. An owl perched here,
teased by a blackbird with outstretched wings and open beak, and there
were several birds'-nests among the branches. The lower part of the
case was filled with small bushes, clumps of grass, and reeds, among
which Frank noted quantities of other nests, some with eggs and some
without, more mounted birds of various sorts, and several animals,
such as a mink, two squirrels, and a skunk, all in the most lifelike
attitudes. Turning from an eager inspection of the case, he stared at
Trexler in amazement.

"It's the greatest thing I ever saw!" he exclaimed. "Do you mean to say
you did it all yourself?"

Paul nodded, his pale face tinged with color, his eyes sparkling. "It
isn't hard when you know how to stuff things," he said. "I took lessons
in the city before we came out here last year. It's been lots of fun
fixing them up."

"But how the deuce did you get 'em all?" Frank turned quickly back to
the case again. "You must be a dandy shot."

"But I'm not! I hate to kill things--especially birds. You see, I go
off for long tramps a lot, and in the winter especially you often find
birds that have been frozen, or killed by flying into things. Some of
them people gave me. A farmer that I know out near Alton shot that skunk
and the mink in his chicken-yard. The quail and that woodcock came from
down South. A cousin of mine sent them up, and I got Mother to let me
take the skins off be