THE FEATHER MAN 257 



The old pot-hunter smiled, just a mere ghost of 

 a smile, and his face resumed its wonted stern- 

 ness. 



After a few moments, he moved again, his 

 fingers weakly trying to get something from his 

 coat. 



''What is it. Bull?" asked the boy, leaning over 

 the bed so as to hear the voice, now fallen to a 

 husky whisper. 



''The — picture," said Bull feebly. 



Shan wondered. What could this picture be? 

 He had never known anything about his parents. 

 Was he going to learn about them now? 



Gently, as gently as he could, the boy put his 

 hand into the breast pocket of the old coat and 

 brought out a photograph which he put into the 

 old man's hand. 



It was Shan's photo of the little new-hatched 

 Thrushes on their nest. 



"Ain't they peart?" he said tenderly, and so, 

 holding it, died. 



