222 BEAUTIFUL BIRDS 
and all the chaffinches and bullfinches and goldfinches 
and greenfinches—yes, and all the little robin-red- 
breasts too—being shot and shot, killed and killed, 
till there were no more of them left, either in England 
or anywhere else. For, of course, when all the beauti- 
ful foreign birds were gone, then the frozen-hearted 
women would begin to wear our own little birds, here 
at home, in their hats. You would hear one lady say 
to another: ‘‘I wanted to have a redbreast tippet 
this winter, but, my dear, they are so expensive. 
You see, hundreds go to one, because there’s only 
the breast, so I’m afraid I must fall back on 
greenfinch. ‘They’re less, of course; you see, there’s 
a greater surface, and they’re not quite so rare. 
But I did so want redbreast!”” And, then, the other 
lady would say: ‘‘ Well, I think I should manage 
it if I were you, dear, for, you know, they say there’ll 
soon be no more real redbreast—only imitation. 
So it’s best to get one, whilst there’s time.” And 
you may be sure that it would be managed somehow 
—things like that always are. 
Well, then, but what is to be done? Do you 
think your mother would make a promise about all 
the birds? I think she would if you were to ask 
her. But then, perhaps, she might think it a /ittle 
hard not to wear any feathers—yjust at first, at any 
rate—although flowers and all sorts of other things 
