60 OUR FEATHERED FRIENDS. 
“Where do you suppose I got that lizard?” he asked 
of a goldfinch. 
“T have no idea,’ she answered. “I never saw a 
lizard up in the morning so early as this. Lizards are 
‘sun birds’ and don’t like cold, wet grass.” 
“Ha, ha!” laughed the butcher. “I caught him yes- 
terday asleep, and killed him, and pinned him on a 
thorn. I always get my breakfast ready over night.” 
“IT wish I had some wine to drink,” observed Mr. 
Oriole, sadly. ‘ The doctor says I ought to drink wine, 
I feel so weak.” 
“What do you know about wine?” asked old Mr. 
Warbler, hopping along where the birds were talking. 
“IT tasted some wine once from a broken bottle at the 
back door of a dram-shop, and it made me so dizzy I 
couldn’t fly. I had to stay on the shed roof all the 
morning, feeling so foolish, and expecting to be caught 
by a cat any minute. I wouldn’t drink wine.” 
“TI would, whole bottles of it,’’ declared Mr. Oriole, 
laughing till he almost cried. ‘Then all the frightened 
birds came back to the hydrant. 
“Too bad! too bad!” cried the warbler, wiping his 
eyes. “Young man, you will be sorry. I wouldn’t 
have anything to do with a doctor who advised a young 
man to drink wine because he felt weak. Better go 
out in the field to work.” 
“Ha, ha!” laughed the oriole again, amused at his 
own joke. “See me tap my wine bottles.” Then he 
flew to the berry patch and sipped the red juice of the 
