A WINGED CHUM 195 



that he could spit comfortably out of the half-open 

 door, Bull Adani took the photograph in his big 

 mahogany-colored hand. 



Shan waited for the grunt of assent or disap- 

 proval, but the old pot-hunter looked at the print 

 steadily for some time. 



**Yo' don't say!" he commented at last. 

 ''Right smart little bird, ain't she!" 



Shan was quick to recognize that Bull's interest 

 lay in the subject of the picture itself rather than 

 in it as a photograph, and with a faint hope re- 

 turning, he handed another to his uncle. 



"Here's the nest," he said. 



The pot-hunter regarded it with equal intent- 

 ness. 



''Four eggs, too! An' right in a yaupon bush, 

 same as I told yo'. I reckon the mother was off 

 feedin', when yo' took that, eh?" 



There was no doubt, now, of Bull's interest. 



"This I took the next day," said Shan, handing 

 him another of the prints. 



"Right peart," said the old man; "I declare yo' 

 can see the spots on her breast like she was there 

 alive. ' ' 



He held out his hand for the next, actually ex- 

 claiming with pleasure at the first little nestling. 



